When the Smoke Clears
by MrsJohnBender
Summary: Formally known as Life as we Know it.John Bender and the rest of the breakfast club fully anticipated allowing everything that happened in detention to become nothing more than a memory, but when John gets a new neighbor, those plans unexpectedly change
1. the new house

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original breakfast club characters

Andrew Clark violently threw all his possessions into old cardboard boxes. He had been told months before the current date of his displeasure that he would be moving, but the date actually becoming more than just talk had driven him to almost full rage.

After finding a new job so soon after losing his, everyone else in Andrew's family were happy, even excited for his father. Not Andrew. He found no reason to be excited over a job that paid fifty percent of his original job, or a new house, compliments of the cut in pay, that was located in what was practically the ghetto of Illinois. Those were not things to be happy about, they were things to dread.

Andrew's mother had promised him time and time again that their new home was a nice one, just slightly smaller, and that he could still go to the same school. Neither one of these things brought him comfort. She had to have been lying about the house, it was in the worst part of the neighborhood, and if he was going to be living in such an area, he didn't want to go to the same school. He didn't want all the people who looked up to him to see what he'd become, where he had to live.

Could he still be respected if he was broke and living in the shittiest part of town?

* * *

John Bender sat on the front steps of the wreck he called a home. He took a long drag of his cigarette, before throwing it on the ground and smothering it with his foot until it could no longer ember.

Next door, a large moving truck pulled in. The thought that someone actually bought the shit hole next door was so shocking that John nearly fell backwards. The house was even shittier than his own. The shingles flew off whenever there was a storm, the porch fell apart from under your feet on a regular basis, not to mention the house was sandwiched in between the Bender residence and the biggest meth house in the area. Plus, John was convinced the previous home owner had murdered his wife in their bedroom, but his suspicions had yet to be confirmed.

John's jaw practically fell to the ground as he watched Andrew Clark, the biggest jock in school, step out of the car that followed the moving truck. After meeting him just one day before, John had thought and hoped he would never see the jock-strap again. He knew too many things, and saw a side of John that he never wanted any repeat acquaintances to see.

He watched silently as Andrew took an unimpressed look at his new home. The jock turned to his mom, but did a double take when he saw John sitting on the steps just one house over. If this was a normal occasion, John might have said some smart ass comment or waved mockingly or something, but he wasn't in the mood at the particular moment, so instead he just took another drag of his cigarette and ignored the pair of eyes trying to bore holes into his back with their glares.

* * *

Andrew found it excruciatingly difficult to fall asleep knowing that the school criminal was just one house over. The same heartless John Bender who could have killed him back in detention, but didn't because he claimed he didn't want to deal with the law suits, now had a house just two feet away from his own.

To make matters worse: John knew the territory of the neighborhood and the .?docid=18897145ces that he knew the anatomy of the whole house in which Andrew now resided in were high. If he wanted to, he could probably sneak into the house and steal whatever he wanted to without making the slightest noise or even having to break in. He could probably navigate around the house in his sleep. If he did, it wasn't like his family would be able to pinpoint it on John, not when there was an overdose of thugs in the area.

Andrew groaned and forced his eyes shut. John was not breaking into his house. John was a fucking idiot, not a high class thug. His idea of being bad was making everyone else miserable by calling them names or stealing a screw, not breaking into their house and robbing them for all they were worth. At that hour of the night, John Bender was probably sleeping off the results of his latest binge drinking adventure, he wasn't about to let someone as stupid as Bender take away his nights sleep.

A surprisingly loud crash broke Andrew from his attemptions to fall asleep. In the blink of an eye, Andrew Clark was downstairs, armed with a baseball bat, observing the whole premises to find that there was absolutely no sign of forced entry, or a single thing broken. The crash had not come from inside his house; he was safe.

Andrew's stomach suddenly churned as he remembered the cigar burn Bender had shown him the day before. He was safe, but was Bender? The noise had to have come from either one of his neighbors houses, since it wasn't his own…

Andrew groaned again. He didn't care. John Bender was not his sudden responsibility just because they were next door from each other. There was almost nothing to worry about anyways, Bender was a stupid individual who did stupid things. He had probably gotten himself shitfaced and ran into a vase or something.

Convinced he had nothing more to worry about, Andrew went back into his room and continued his desperate attempts to get sleep. Unfortunately, this was even more difficult then it had been before.

* * *

Andrew's father came to pick him up after school as usual, but this time the car headed for an entirely new destination. Andrew felt sick again, and contemplated jumping out of the car and running back to the school building. School was familiar, it was normal, it was what his life used to be like and what it should have remained.

There was, of course, one reason to go back to his house; John. Though Andrew would never admit it to anyone outside of his head, he had spent a decent amount of time at school being worried over him. He hadn't been at school at all; he didn't even go to make Clair's life miserable and prove that she couldn't keep her promise. If he hadn't found that as motivation enough to get out of bed, then something had to be wrong with him.

The car pulled into the bumpy driveway. Andrew watched outside his window as John, wearing at least two coats, once again tried his hardest to ignore his existence. This time, he was not equip with a cigarette, or even a bottle of alcohol. He was just sitting on the steps shivering, which Andrew found odd enough to inspire him to strike up a conversation. They were neighbors now, after all. They didn't, by any means whatsoever, need to be friends, but they at least needed some positive feelings towards each other.

"What are you doing? It's freezing, aren't you cold?" Andrew asked, trying to sound casual. He was given a threatening glare but otherwise ignored even longer before John got the hint that he wasn't going away. He watched as Bender's mouth dropped a little and his head spun to face him, giving him the genuine "what the hell do you think you're doing" look.

"No." He said, managing to hold in all swear words. Truth be told, Bender was cold, he was more then cold, he was fucking freezing, and had been for some time. The cold, however, was more bearable then reporting back into the house when his father had made it very clear that he was unwanted by locking him out in the first place. At that moment, John just wanted to be cold on the steps by himself.

Andrew took a moment to observe his neighbor. This wasn't John Bender, the cocky, sarcastic, shithead from detention. This stranger was filled with raw hatred, and wanted nothing to do with other people even if it meant he got to torture them with his ability to be a prick. This was the same stranger that had slipped through only once two days earlier, when he throw books everywhere and pulled himself on top of the staircase by the side like some kind of werewolf or something.

Taking further note that Andrew wasn't about to leave him be, Bender pulled himself up to his feet, stuffed his cold hands into his pockets, and silently made his way down the street. He decided he would walk until he made it to the richer houses, then he would silently hate them all for everything they had and everything they took for granted.

"Hey," Bender heard from behind, and without warning, Andrew grabbed the still swollen shoulder from the night before, causing a sharp pain to run through Bender's whole right side. He winced and spun around, slamming the culprit of his sudden pain in the face with his fist and knocking him down.

Andrew blinked in surprise before ultimately becoming pissed. He had tried to be friendly towards John, tried being neighborly, and this is what he got in return? Did anyone in the whole neighborhood even know how to act like a good person, let alone a good neighbor, because if they did they'd know that good people did not randomly punch other people in the face.

"What the fuck did you do that for? My face!" Andrew exclaimed as he held onto his bleeding nose with both hands. He looked up and glared as John spun around again to glare back to him, showing Andrew that he had no compassion for what he had just done. And Bender truly didn't. He got hit every night of his life for doing absolutely nothing. If Andrew had taken a hint instead of grabbing his aching shoulder, he wouldn't have gotten punched at all.

"Fucking prick!" Andrew yelled as John started to walk away. John laughed in a mocking tone before turning and walking back to Andrew, who was still on the ground. At this point, Bender looked scary and unpredictable, which changed Andrew's thoughts about him not being a risk factor.

"Oh, I'm the prick? Let me ask you something Sporto, how many of them did you talk to today? Did you even say hi to any of them?" He asked, laughing again as Andrew tried playing stupid. He knew very well that John was talking about the breakfast club, who else would he be asking about?

"Clair and Allison ate lunch with me you fucking prick, and I just tried talking to you before you fucking punched me in the face!" Andrew said as he pointed to his blood covered face. The look in Bender's eyes was cold; he didn't care at all. Something told Andrew that he'd even do it again if he could.

"Big fucking woop. Cherry and Allison can't ruin your reputation now that Allison's a mini Clair. And don't worry about fucking talking to me, because I don't want you to. Just because you're a fucking house away from me now doesn't mean we're friends, so go blow yourself with all your jock buddies and leave me alone." Bender shouted coldly as he began walking away for the final time.

"I thought you wouldn't treat any of us like this, I thought it was so shitty to treat someone like that you fucking prick?" Andrew asked, finally picking himself off the ground. He never thought he'd have a thought like the one he was having at that moment ever in his lifetime, but he actually missed the sarcastic and cocky Bender. At least he wasn't dangerous.

"I lied." Bender called back as he slowly disappeared.

* * *

Night had come and to somewhat of a relief to Andrew, Bender wasn't back yet. This made it safe for Andrew to sit on his own porch and get some fresh air to think. He'd been on the porch for three hours, and still had no intentions of getting up. He had a lot to think about.

Andrew missed his old house so much that it almost hurt. His new neighborhood was so dangerous and fucked up. He'd seen little kids smoking cigarettes, their parents no where to be found. He'd seen eight drug exchanges, and he saw John's mother realize her son was no where to be found, and still find it in easy to go about her normal day.

Finally, Bender and some other stoner made their way to John's front stops. The other stoner was begging for something, and was obviously drunk out his ass from the way he swayed when he walked. Bender seemed mostly sober, though he most likely had something to drink. He seemed fully ready to grab his friend as soon as he fell over, which was bound to happen with how drunk he was.

"What do you think, I'm fucking rich? I just gave you one last night, go get your own." Bender said softly, not exactly knowing why he was wasting his time arguing with someone who was too completely trashed to think logically anyways. It wouldn't be the last time he had wasted his time with something completely stupid.

"Hey, hey, at least, at least you can get smokes from the store. I got kicked out of that fucking place last time I tried that shit. Doesn't your mom have any?" the kid asked, giving Andrew the idea that he wasn't talking about achieving cigarettes by purchasing them when he said getting them at the store.

"Katherine hides them now, and I'm not putting my ass on the line and making noise trying to find them. Wear a hood. That fat idiot won't recognize you anyways, he's a fucking moron. Just wait until the morning to go." John added, taking not that his friend was far too drunk to try taking anything inconspicuously.

"Come on Bender, I can't wait that long! Isn't there something I can do to get a smoke from you?" He asked, trying to put his hand on Bender's shoulder but missing by a long shot. The scum of America resided in the houses surrounding Andrew's; this was just perfect.

"I already told you I don't fucking have enough. You can always sleep with Nina, maybe she'll give you some. She's big enough of a ho." Bender joked, referring to his slut of a half sister. She made it her business to sleep with practically everyone in town, and she was usually a gold digger in most cases.

"I wouldn't touch that whore with a three foot pole." The kid said, falling to the side a little before regaining his composure. Bender laughed before telling his friend to go home before he got himself into trouble. He then silently opened the door to his own house and crept inside.

Bender's friend swayed for a while before starting his way home, until he noticed Andrew through the shadows. He pointed a wobbly finger and made his way over, almost making Andrew laugh. He looked like a zombie in the thriller music video or something.

"Hey you," He called as he continued on his wobbly way, "you're new. Bender didn't tell me someone finally bought your piece of shit house. My name's Mark." He said, his breath filled with alcohol.

"My name's Andrew." He said flatly, not knowing how to deal with someone who was so drunk. Sure, he wasn't exactly the model sober kid himself, but he only got trashed at parties. He never had to deal with someone so shitfaced without fifty other shit faced people around.

"Andrew, you wear that letterman's jacket around here you're gonna get your ass kicked." Mark said, laughing at something not particularly funny and making Andrew a little uncomfortable. However, Mark seemed a lot less dangerous than Bender. In fact, he seemed completely safe. He hadn't tried taking the jacket at all yet, so Andrew figured he could be trusted more than anyone else on his block.

"I'm more nervous about Bender than anyone else. I grabbed his shoulder today and he punched me in the face. He almost broke my nose over nothing." Andrew said, finding it strangely odd to confide his fears in someone who was so hammered; they probably weren't making sense out of any of the words that came out of his mouth. He watched as Mark laughed at him.

"He's not all that scary. He got a lamp thrown at his shoulder last night, you probably just pulled too hard. Just don't touch him and you won't get the shit beaten out of you. Here are some tips: don't talk to him, don't stare at him, and never, ever call the police no matter what you hear, got that? You may think it's helping, but involving the police around here just gets everyone in a pissfull of trouble. Follow those rules and you won't have anything to worry about, he'll leave you alone." Mark said, shocking Andrew with all the things he was telling him upon their first meeting. He felt guilty; if Mark wasn't wasted he wouldn't be revealing all of John's secrets.

"See you kid," Mark said as he took off, leaving Andrew to stare at John's house. Everything John had told them was the truth. His father really did beat the shit out of him, and now, whether he liked it or not, it was going to make its way into Andrew's life and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

* * *

**a/n: as if it's not obvious by this point, i no longer write fanfictions. I write my own stories on fictionpress (account name: mychemicalpocky) but because i'm still receiving reviews for this i figured i'd at least try to finish it up. Upon reading it and trying to remember waht it was about i practically choked with how much it sucked, so i figured i'd start rewriting. this whole chapter has been reconstructed, but the overall idea is pretty much the same**


	2. the earring

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original breakfast club characters

John, to no surprise, had skipped school again to sit on his front steps and smoke. He had it in his mind that no matter how often he went, or what he did, he was going to fail anyways. There was absolutely no point in walking all the way to school, in the freezing cold chill of winter, just to deal with Dick and report to the back of the bleachers to smoke, which was exactly what he was doing at home anyways.

There were times when this upset John. Beyond anyone else's wildest imaginations, John Bender really did want to do well in school. He wanted out of the hell hole that was the Bender house, and he wanted out of the hell hole that was his neighborhood. One most days, these thoughts were blocked out of his mind, but on some he allowed them to break though, and considered how nice it would be to have a regular house, be a regular person, with a regular family. How nice it would be to someday be a regular father, who kissed his wife goodbye in the morning, went to some important job or business meeting, and then would come home and do homework with the kids. Like normal families.

It didn't matter how often he thought about being normal. If he didn't get to drunk or beat out of shape to the point he couldn't show his face around teachers or anyone else who would ask questions, then he'd go to most of his classes but end up being too far behind. He, of course, was a very quick learner, but found no point in even trying. He was doomed to be the Bender that everyone knew for the rest of his life.

After chain smoking a whole box of cigarettes without even realizing he was doing it, John saw Andrew's dad pull into the driveway. He was taking back by complete shock when Clair stepped out of the car after Andrew, spinning her head to examine every angle around her, as if she expected someone to jump out of some place with a knife and steal all the money she had with her.

John tried sneaking back into his house before she could notice her, but epically failed as the girl spotted him in a matter of minutes. To his pure astonishment, a smile spread on he face and she ran over to him immediately. He was shocked that anyone had kept their promise, let alone Clair. Yet there she was, running at full speed toward him as if she was PMSing and he had a full box of chocolate in his hands.

"John!" she squealed with excitement once she caught up to him. What had happened to the girl from the time before the detention to their current meeting in John's front yard that had changed her so drastically? He doubted she'd even be seen within a hundred foot radius of him before, and now he was the one hoping she'd just disappear from his presence. Now he was the jackass who didn't want anything to do with any of them.

"Get out of here Cherry. You don't belong here." He said dryly, turning towards his house. The breakfast club was never supposed to happen. John couldn't have friends who didn't smoke and drink and cause trouble. He couldn't have anyone, for that matter, who was cheerful without alcohol, who were good people, or who actually cared about him, with the small exception of Mark.

"I'm not going anywhere." Clair warned, making John immediately spin around. It was one of those few moments in his life where he was unable to hide the pure shock on his face. In fact, for all he could remember, Clair was one of the only people who could do that to him. She never stopped surprising him, he would never be able to predict her actions.

"I'm a bitch? What about you? I didn't believe it when Andrew told me that you hadn't kept your promise, but now I have no choice. I wish I never met you!" Clair shouted, not fully knowing how to handle a situation where she didn't immediately get what she wanted. In trying to smite each other, her parents had forgotten how to say no to her, and her friends had yet to make a complaint about her new friends (though the occurrence was not yet far from her expectations). Clair usually got whatever she wanted, but not with John. She had to fight for what she wanted with him.

"Then what the hell are you still doing on my front lawn. Leave." John ordered once more. He actually considered picking Clair up and throwing her back in the car. Anything to get the stubborn little princess to leave, to forget about him and everything she thought he was and thought they could be. Playing pretend with her was fun while it lasted, but it was only supposed to be temporary. She couldn't be the good little girl who changed his ways and actually gave him a purpose to be around for more then a day; that just wasn't life.

"I hate you." Clair muttered, still caught in the shock of not getting what she wanted. John had done something to her. He'd shown her that she didn't have to do what people expected of her. He liked her more, in fact, when she didn't. She had concerns that he would be the only one, and her heart hurt knowing that the only person who's only expectation of her was to do whatever the hell she wanted, didn't want her around him anymore.

"Yeah? Good." John answered coldly, earning himself a sharp slap across the face. Clair followed this attack by punching him as hard as she could multiple times in the chest. Besides placing shock on his face, this did not even phase John, and quite frankly Clair had no idea why she was wasting her time hitting him, when all it did was make him think she was crazy.

Clair smacked him until she started to cry. The one person in the world who saw through her had rejected her. She tried punching him again, but John caught her wrist and looked her in the face, trying to decipher what had upset her so much. He had thought he was nothing more then a thrill to her, something that put excitement in her life, nothing more.

John pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly and ignoring the astonished glare he was receiving from Andrew. Clair was the only person who could break his façade, the only girl who had ever made him feel guilty or bad about his behavior. She was the only person who still cared what happened to him, the only person who would notice if he disappeared, and that didn't change no matter what he said or did to her. Her caring state was unconditional.

"We were going to pick up Allison and go do something later. Come with us." Clair demanded, a hint of begging in her voice at the same time. John could only nod. He wouldn't be able to pretend that he didn't want to desperately leave the house, to go somewhere and forget everything for a little while. Even with his own friends, he was never really away. They had the same problems. Clair had invited him to escape.

* * *

Andrew and Clair had errands to run before picking up Allison, so Bender had stayed behind to "get ready". In actuality, going to the drugstore and God only knew where else didn't seem anymore interesting then staying at home and waiting for them to come back for him. Not to mention, he had really never went into the drug store with the intention on actually purchasing anything, which had developed cold feelings between the owner and himself.

It took some time to pry open the front door, which was frozen shut, but once he did the fumes from the smoke filled kitchen made John cough. At the table sat Nina, his older sister, who was doing her makeup in an especially trashy manner with the cracked mirror that she kept in her purse.

"Hey kid. What's up?" Nina asked, casually enough to make a stranger think that they actually got along. She often liked to pretend like John could stand her and like she was an important part in his life, and sometimes he wondered if she realized that this was just an illusion she'd set up, or if she had forgotten that.

John himself didn't know why he hated Nina so much. There was something about the way she chose to stay, the way she used different men to support her drug addictions and her alcoholic father to give her a place to live that bothered him. Worst of all, she got away with it. Joe Bender didn't hit Nina anymore, and no guy ever said no to her.

John ignored her question. He walked past her to the refrigerator, grabbing a beer out from his father's "secret" stash. Joe had thought that he was so very clever by putting his alcohol in the very back of the fridge, but when the ice box had nothing in it to begin with, it wasn't very difficult to spot the stash.

He pulled himself on the countertop and took a long gulp of alcohol, mentally saying cheers to his dumbass father. When Bender wanted to hide his own liquor stash, he did it in a Tupperware bowl. Nobody in the house ever dared to look inside a Tupperware bowl, and if they did and found a strangely colored liquid, it was safe to say they wouldn't think to drink it.

"Damn it!" John heard from down the hall. He froze; his father had woken from his nap early. He panicked, trying desperately to find somewhere to hide the beer, but at the same time was too frozen in terror to think straight or make any action at all. Nina starred at him as if he was completely retarded, but he remained as still as a deer in headlights.

Joe Bender entered the room, approaching his son and knocking his head backwards into the cabinets as he did so. He cursed with slurred words as John rubbed the back of his throbbing head, mentally cursing the same words. Nina, on the other hand, was once again pretending she didn't notice anything was going on. As usual.

"Where the hell you get that earring boy?" Joe asked, staring at his son's new ear piece. John's heart beat faster, he had made a mental note to get rid of the jewelry but, of course, had forgotten. The earring shined so brightly that it, not the alcohol, had been the first thing that Joe Bender noticed to be wrong with the scene.

Without any warning, Joe ripped the earring out of his son's ear and threw it out the window. Had he been sober, he would have taken the prize and sold it, but in his drunken state he could simply think to discard it. At the moment, the piece of jewelry was just a way to punish his son, who could never receive such a treasure unless it had been stolen.

John cupped his ear with both hands as blood drizzled down his neck. He groaned in pain as the cold air whipped past his open flesh, but he didn't dare to scream out. He could never scream, if he did the neighbors had a higher chance of calling the cops.

"And git' your sorry ass off the counter!" Joe shouted, pushing John to the ground where he remained still. Like he had done nothing deplorable in any sense, Joe grabbed another beer from the refrigerator and went back to his room where he would drink and watch T.V.

John remained still for a moment more before getting up, his hand still cupped around his torn up ear. He made his way to the bathroom, trying his best to keep every drop of blood within his hands and off the floor. He figured if he bled on the floor he'd just be beat even worse for making a mess.

It would surprise most to know that John actually knew a great deal about first aid. He had learned how to prevent infection through his years of torment, and made it a point to steal first aid requirements along with his cigarettes.

Unfortunately, Joe Bender had managed to rip right through John's ear. It would be impossible to cover up something like that, but he did his best. He cleaned the wound and sprayed mounds of disinfection on it. He then threw a scarf around it, hoping it would remain unnoticed.

On his way back outside, John grabbed another beer from the ice box. The cold air of outside that was not only unbearable in its own nature had a painful grip on Bender's still open wound. He considered blowing Clair and Andrew off and heading back to his room, but knew that Clair would just make him feel guilty if he did. Besides, he wanted to be as far as physically possible from his father.

Finally, three heads appeared from over the hill. They laughed as if they had been friends forever, which, for reasons unknown, made John uneasy. He didn't know if he wanted to be a part of that or not, and didn't want to chance finding out.

"Hey John," Allison greeted, her voice suddenly small and cracked. The stopping laughed the moment John's ear was in eyeshot. A million things passed through her mind, but she couldn't think of a decent thing to ask. It wasn't like she could go out and say "Say John, why is a big chunk of your ear suddenly not there?"

"Did you decide what we're doing or what?" John asked, not in the mood to be the playful and teasing boy he naturally was. Not only was he in an awful mood from receiving yet another wound that would probably scar over, but he had no idea how to treat the people before him. In detention he had one goal; to get a rise out of them. He didn't have to be their friend in detention, he was forced to be there with them, and they were nothing but his entertainment. What were they now?

"Um…well, there's a big bonfire…we were thinking about going to that. It's right next to the reserve park, you go down one street to get there, do you know of it?" Andrew explained awkwardly, trying his hardest to break his eyesight from John's ear. It looked horrible; the flesh was jagged and the blood was clotting differently in different areas. He couldn't help but stare at it.

"You mean 'Dead Man's Street'?" John asked, his spirits somewhat lifted when the faces the other three wore instantly became that of fear. They glanced at one another, silently trying to decide if they really wanted to go down a street with the word "dead" in its nickname for the sake of a stupid bonfire.

"We don't have time to go a safer way. As soon as Allison gives me back my switchblade we'll go." John said flatly, half hoping to run into trouble so he could use the switchblade and vent his anger on some stupid douche-bag.

"You saw?" Allison asked as she reached into her new designer bag, pulling out the small knife. While she allowed herself to be more girly, and to have the things she wanted but never took because she never wanted to confirm, she still kept the treasures she had stolen from people close by her.

"No, but it was gone and you were the only klepto around." He explained as he took his switchblade and stuck it in his coat pocket, where he could easily pull out as quickly as he might need to.

"Look, I think we should do something else. Why the hell are we risking our lives for some stupid party?" Andrew asked, failing at hiding the fact that he was actually scared out of his mind to be going down any street in his brand new neighborhood, let alone one that Bender needed a switchblade to go down. If John Bender was taking precautions before his actions, it meant trouble was ahead.

"Relax Sporto, The things you've seen on the wrestling mat are probably a lot worse then the things you're going to see around here. I've been this way a million times and nothing has ever happened to me." John stated as he pressed forward.

Lies. Everyone could read what he had told them to be nothing but a lie. However, Bender, for whatever reason, was set on going, and not one of them wanted to be the one to argue with him when he was in a bad mood and had a torn up ear and a switchblade in his pocket. Their chances of surviving were better if they did what he told them to do.


	3. the jumping

Disclaimer: I do not own anyone from the breakfast club.

The group of four silently walked through the gloom-filled streets, keeping alert and cautious of every noise; everyone that is, except John. He'd been down the street enough to the point where getting jumped no longer phased him. There'd be a fight, someone would lose, and that someone would get their stuff stolen. It honestly wasn't like anything John had on his person was valuable enough to be concerned with thieves.

The other's, on the other hand, seemed to expect their minutes left on Earth to be slipping with every alley or vacant house they passed. The fact that John had decided to aimlessly throw his open switchblade into the air and catch it in his bare hands with each step didn't help their concerned predicament. If they didn't piss him off to the point he'd slit them, then he'd miss a beat and end up stabbing himself in the eye or something

Their fear did not go unnoticed by John, who, every once in a while, would turn his head slightly to get a look at how the other's were coping. Out of all of them, Clair was definitely the most terrified. He could feel the vibrations of her body shaking without even having to look at her. He wondered to himself how Andrew had ever in his life managed to get the princess to leave her comfortable home for an adventure in the filthy and deplorable ghetto.

"Hey Cherry. You're making earthquakes over there. You're practically sending out a mating call to all the deranged psycho murderers in the area." John said, breaking the silence that was comforting to only him, and made the uneasiness of everyone else unbearable.

"John," Clair warned, planting a dirty look on her otherwise pale face, "this is serious! What if those people jump us? What if they _kill _us?" she panicked, referring to the scum of Illinois only as "those people".

"Cherry, this may surprise you, but I'm one of 'those people', and you never made earthquakes over me. If you want to avoid conflict I'd suggest you stop with the mini seizures you're having. If they see someone scared shitless they're going to take advantage of the situation." John advised with a sigh. He wasn't used to having to explain to people why acting hopeless in a dangerous situation was a stupid idea. He had lead himself to believe that it was just common knowledge.

Suddenly, as Clair was beginning to calm herself down, something grabbed at her should and spun her around. Her eyes met a group of people like John, only ten times more threatening. Most of them had visible scarring on their face, blunts, booze, and knives. They were pale and sickly looking, and had the spindly composition to suggest they all were addicted to crack.

"Get you filthy fucking hands off her!" John shouted once he'd realized what was happening. His warnings went ignored. In fact, they seemed to please the thug. He simply snarled at John, the same snarl Joe Bender and Richard Vernon had discovered to be an effective way of getting under John's skin. It fucking drove him crazy.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Like you're so much fucking better than us, dickwod." One of the other members of the gang questioned. Bender was highly known throughout his part. He had insane connections, a face that all the ghetto whores loved, was skilled with a switchblade, and had a fucking insane temper when someone pissed him off. He was no better than any other shitbag walking down the particular juvie infested street.

"You people piss me the fuck off," the thug who still held onto Clair informed, "you think because you've got some richies with you all of a sudden you're fucking hot shit. This one your fucking bitch? If touching the bitch pisses you off that fucking much how bout this?" the boney thug asked before he erotically licked the frightened girl's cheek, keeping his beady eyes on Bender the whole time.

Clair began crying now. This was too unreal. She was going to die in that stupid fucking alley on that stupid fucking street in the hands of some stupid fucking thug and there was nothing anyone she was with could do about it.

"What did I fucking just tell you?" John asked as he charged forward, grabbing the thug by his untrimmed hair and pulling his head straight back. He then held the blade so close to the guy's neck that it pressed the skin down and drew out a tiny bead of blood. Now it was the thugs turn to start shaking and pleading.

Satisfied with the pussy he had made out of his attacker, John picked the dirtbag up by the collar of his coat and flung him a good foot, watching him slide on the cement pavement. This was a technique he had picked up from his father, and while he hadn't learned it in entirely the best of ways, he had taken note on the movements used to get the body to fly as far as physically possible. Physics not even that boner-nerd Brian knew.

The crew, finally having enough, picked their friend off the ground and scampered off as Bender wiped the bead of blood from his attacker's neck off of his blade. He was almost pissed at their quick escape. If someone had the fucking nerve to test his temper on a day he had gotten three consecutive beatings, they could at least not be fucking pussies about it.

"Are you okay?" he asked Clair halfheartedly. He knew she was fine, just scared, but he still found it appropriate to ask. The girl nodded and wiped the tears from her face. She wanted to turn back, she wanted to even go home, but she also wanted to stay with John, and something told her he wouldn't be happy to know he did all that for nothing.

"Well then, come on. We're almost there." As John said this, he received a surprised look from Andrew. The look was so unusual, Bender almost broke down laughing right there.

"Are you kidding? We were already attacked! Lets just go, it's not worth it!" Andrew shouted, raged that Bender didn't even seem to give two shits that their lives might have been in danger, and even angrier he couldn't do anything himself to help Clair, yet John was able to jump right to it. He was the bigshot at his school, but here…

"Yeah, we were attacked, and I took care of it. Now, we're not being attacked, so why the hell are you still standing there soiling yourself. Let's go." Bender mocked, turning his feet and daring the other's to follow him. It was either stick with him, or walk all the way back without him. They really had no choice.

Knowing this threat, the others quickly exchanged looks before taking off in the direction of John, this time more cautious of any movement around them.


	4. the bonfire

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the breakfast club characters

Within minutes of being at the bonfire every single member of the group had managed to get separated from each other. It was probably the biggest trash pit of the year; every single scum bag from the poor part of the city was there. It was like a god damned Woodstock gathering.

John considered looking for the others. It was safe to say Allison had never been to any gathering where there was more than ten people around her, and when most of them were actually looking at her. She probably had no idea what the fuck was going on. He suspected Clair and Andrew to be used to the party scenario, but this was no house party. John had seen at least four couples full out fucking and he'd only been at the event for twenty minutes.

On the other hand, he really didn't want to find them. It was like fucking babysitting, and he really wasn't in the mood. He was so fucking sick of everything. He was fucking tired of the one person who's supposed to give a shit about him turning around and throwing him around like a pillow. He was fucking tired of going day by day scared shitless because he had no idea what he was going to do about his future. He was watching himself get trapped in a hell hole and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He was fucking tired of never being able to get ahead.

Before the company of the members of the breakfast club, John was able to just look past these thoughts. Now, it wasn't so easy. They were giving him a taste of their life. A taste of actually being _scared _to walk down the ghetto. It was like being able to sit in the coffee house and smell the java beans, but not having enough money to buy a cup. He didn't want to be the street smart one. He wanted to be normal. Like them.

Bender sighed and rolled his eyes. He'd brought them there. It didn't matter how much he wanted their normal lives or how much the secret jealousy he had grew, he brought them there. They were his responsibility. He couldn't let them just get ass raped or something.

It wasn't like John was ever really able to enjoy those types of parties anyways. He always had to watch how much he drunk, and after a while, being the only sober one really got irritating. If he did get trashed, he expected he'd probably go home with some whore and pick up some type of disease, or at the very least, she'd see his scars. It pissed him the fuck off when someone would ask him about any of his injuries. Like it was anyone else's fucking business. Even if they didn't say anything; they knew. He knew they knew.

In the place John lived in, he felt he needed the "hard ass" ego. It was what kept people from breaking into his house, or slitting his throat and leaving him in some dumpster. Without it, it was impossible to get by. If someone knew he'd let his old man beat the living shit out of him on a regular basis and that he was too much of a chicken shit to ever do anything about it.

Not that anything John could do would work. Joe Bender had a weight advantage on his son. He was almost two hundred pounds of pure muscle. Even if John didn't mentally shut down whenever he was around his father, he'd only get the shit beaten out of him more if he tried anything. And the police were a fucking joke. They didn't give half a shit about anything that happened in John's neighborhood. He doubted if they really even looked into their murder cases, or just put police tape up to decorate the otherwise gloomy street.

As John made his way through the crowd, he saw something that immediately brightened his grouchy mood. It was like a present from God. All that was missing was the note that said "dear John, sorry I gave you a shitty ass life, I'm handing this to you to make up for it." John couldn't stand up to his father, but he'd be damned if he'd let anyone else get an edge over him.

He watched as Richard Vernon examined the perimeters of the party, remaining cautious and stiff. He was surrounded by pretty much every student who he had ever given multiple detentions to before they ultimately dropped out. It was like a frenzy of people who hated him. There was only one thing that could persuade Richard to take the courageous step into the scenes of the bonfire; the sweet piece of ass he was with.

She was tall and had long blond hair. It didn't matter she was a party animal, and it didn't matter she was too young for him, this women looked like one of the swimsuit models in the dirty calendars he kept in his office, and she _liked _him. Some party was just a small price to pay for such a wonderful women.

Bender smiled to himself. Though he wanted to take Vernon up on his threats and knock the cock out of him, he'd only find himself in jail. The police would side with a principal long before they went with some juvie. Both Richard and John knew that; but now a situation had presented itself where John could teach the asshole who was fucking with without even getting physical.

"Hey toots, I thought you were working late." John said, using the same voice he often used to imitate his bitch of a mom. His lips spread to form the biggest smile possible as he moved in on Vernon's cheek; silently laughing as the principal hesitantly pulled away, before John grabbed his head in a hold and planted a convincing kiss on his cheek.

"Richard…you didn't tell me you had…a cousin?" the woman asked, bluntly confused. He had told her that he had no children, so why was this high school student going up to him and pecking his cheek as casually as if he had given him a handshake? The kid didn't even look French…

"No, Kate, this is a student of mine." Richard said, feeling somewhat uneasy. By now, John had his arm around his neck, and Kate was only looking at him with eyes of a prosecutor even more now. He should have lied. Should have told her that yes, John in fact was her cousin. Anything other than student.

"Oh, sure, now I'm just a student. Just an ordinary student, right?" John asked, sounding appalled. He pulled his hand away from Vernon, who was glaring at him and trying to read his every move. Sweat practically poured from his hairline, and John was loving it. He had no fucking idea what was happening.

"Yes, John, just an ordinary student. Now if you don't mind," Vernon started before John's face twisted in shock. This, of course, did not fail to capture Kate's attention. It was quite obviously he wasn't taking her anywhere. His little piece of ass was too interested in what John had to say, and so was Vernon. Whatever John was doing, it was the most bizarre behavior he had ever seen from him.

"So I guess I'm only special to you when you want to get your dick wet, is that it? All those fucking times you had me in that closet with you, and I was just another fucking ordinary student?" John shouted, finally revealing his scheme. He was making it seem like Richard was having homosexual relationships with students, and he had walked right into it.

"What is he talking about Richard?" Kate asked, looking at her dumbfounded date with total rage. He was some sick fuck and she was out with him! Her friends had advised her not to go out with a cradle robber, as they referred to him, and she had actually convinced them that he was harmless!

"Nothing Katie! This kid obviously needs a shrink or something! Look at him, he's dirt! Look at where he lives, look at how he dressed, who he is!" Richard rambled, truly at a loss of what to do. No student had ever been able to pull off such a clever plan. And what would he do in return? He couldn't give him a detention for being an ass at a bonfire that Richard wasn't even supposed to be at. An under-aged drinking spot was like a two weeks notice served in a patchy ghetto form for any school official caught within the area.

"Excuse me? He lives in the same place I live in! My brother has the same coat as him! So what, am I dirt Richard?" Kate asked, appalled that the man who had told her that he loved her no matter how much money she had on her or how broken down her house was, was actually calling someone just like her the same thing everyone else did; dirt.

"No! He's scum, not you! This kid is the biggest problem child at the school! He's a pain in the ass to deal with!" Vernon shouted, throwing an accusing finger at John, who played off like he was sick to his stomach by what was being said. This was probably the greatest moment of the infamous Bender's life.

"Well, dick, last time I checked you _liked _the pain in the ass I dealt you! Or is that not good enough for you anymore? I gave you everything, and all that time you were just taking advantage of me?" John asked, watching with pride in himself as Kate stumbled back a little. This was better than the fire alarm thing by a long shot.

"Oh my God. You can't mean…" Kate trailed off, her mind involuntarily creating an image of the young boy and the old man together. It was like walking in on her parents having sex. Leather costumes and all.

"Well, sweets, all I'm saying is that there have been chats between us out of school involving his party knocking around my dick, and lets not forget you trying to figure out how tough I am, hot buns." John mentioned, the cocky smile starting to form on his lips despite the fantastic acting job he was giving off.

By this point, Richard could just stammer and sweat. John had taken his threat to beat the shit out of him and turn it all sexual. The shock of being able to do that, and reciting the very words that could land him in a shitload of trouble whether they were taken for what they were or what John had made them, was enough to make Richard unable to reason.

"You know what? You're a fucking sick-o! You need fucking help! I'm done, don't ever come anywhere near me again or I sweat to fucking God I'll call the cops. Fucking creep!" Kate exclaimed as she took off, running in the direction of the beat up car she had insisted instead of taking Vernon's nicer model. Apparently, it drew attention from the wrong crowd. Thus, Richard had not taken his car, and was left stranded.

"She was nice." John said casually, not taking his eyes off the running girl. If Bender had the ability to have sex with the events that had just unfolded, he would, that is how pleased he was with how everything that went down. It was all perfect. He felt better about his shitty life, because now Vernon's was shittier. At least John could get girls that looked like that, and they were replaceable if they ran off. Vernon wasn't so lucky

John took off to find his entourage before Vernon's face was even finished going through the transformation of sweaty and red to soaked and crimson.

* * *

"It's late, where were you?" Nina asked as John entered the living room. The girl was sprawled out on the couch smoking a cigarette and watching some crappy chick flick on the television. For her to be doing this boring action instead of sleeping, an action she only did when she had some purpose to stay up, she had to have been legitimately waiting up for him.

"None of your damn business." Bender replied as he checked around the corner of the doorframe to the hallway to see if his father's light was off, which signified that he was asleep. To his pleasure, he found the hall darker than Vernon's chances of ending up with another beauty like Kate.

"It is my business. You're my little brother; excuse me if I don't want you growing up to be some burn out in the ghetto!" Nina practically shouted, taking over a drastic mood swing. This meant one of the two things; she was either drunk or pregnant. John was willing to bet it was the first option. She was a slut, but she had a strict no glove no love policy.

"Are you new? I _am _a fucking burn out in the ghetto. You're not my fucking mom Nina, so mind your own fucking business. I could have been out fucking whores and eating up their VD and it's still none of your fucking business." John whispered coldly, trying to remain angry but while keeping his father a sleeping risk factor.

"You weren't fucking whores, Johnny. We both know that." Nina assured as she relaxed. If John had to lie about his whereabouts to make it sound like he had gotten into trouble, then he really hadn't. Otherwise, he'd have just told her the truth like he had before just to see how pissed he could get her.

"And just how the hell would you know? You fucking stalking me now?" John asked, though he didn't need an answer. Nina knew everything about him. She'd devoted her life to trying to be John's "mother figure". She knew the way he thought and the actions he would take in any situation. She didn't need to stalk him to know his whereabouts.

"Cut the crap. You're a cherry and you're always going to be a cherry. Getting intimate with someone would mean you'd have to actually drop the asshole thing long enough to get to know someone, and I've seen the way you talk to whores. You're fucking lucky one of those crazy bitches hasn't tried to stab you yet." Nina replied, smiling to herself as she remembered some of her late night walks with her younger brother. John was pretty much hated anything that breathed, but whores were on a whole other level. They pissed him the fuck off.

John glared. If anyone besides Nina ever discovered that he was a virgin, all hell might break loose. Of course, everyone's fist assumption would be that he was queer, and nobody was going to be afraid of some fudge packer walking down the street late at night. His street credit would be gone, and he'd be fucked. He took precautions to make sure it seemed like he had slept with plenty of women throughout his life just to avoid this.

"I found this in the yard. It looks real; I bet it's fucking worth a ton. If you ask me, I think it looks really queer on you, but I figured you'd want it back anyways." Nina replied as she handed John the diamond stud that had been carelessly ripped from his ear.

"You didn't sell it?" he asked, amazed that she had not pawned such a treasure for cash. Nina basically made all the money for the family, which was the main reason Joe Bender never bothered her anymore. She was prettier than most other girls her age, and could gold dig off any man.

"Jesus Christ, no John, I didn't sell it. I wouldn't pawn my own brother's things. Besides, I got some new rich prick who completely adores me. He's got no kids, a decent income, and would do anything for a younger woman. I'm gonna milk this ass for everything he's worth." Nina explained, her scam smile very evident on her face. It was like she thought she was the only woman alive who knew how to take advantage of men.

"Big deal. I'm going to bed." John declared, unable to form the words to thank her for returning the earring. It seemed stupid, but the tiny stud was a symbol that he had made somewhat of a difference on someone's life, even if it was just getting some frigid richie to give up her diamond earring to what she classified as dirt.

* * *

John Bender lay bare chested in his bed, unable to sleep though he was overcome with fatigue. He traced each scar with his eyes, remembering most of the stories that explained how he got each scar. A match, the shower head, the railing to the staircase, his own switchblade; every form of punishment left a very unique print on his skin.

John sat up as he heard a his name whispered through his open window. The name came again, this time louder, which surprised Bender for the moment causing him jump, which resulted in him falling to the ground. It wasn't particularly a far jump, considering his bed was actually just a mattress on the floor, but it was irritating nonetheless.

"God _dammit _Sporto, this better be fucking good!" Bender snarled, picking himself off of the ground and glaring at the jock. He had just put up with his ugly mug for a good portion of the night, for what reason could he _possibly _have fabricated for their late night meeting?

"I can't sleep. Wanna go do something?" Andrew asked in an uncomfortable manner, shifting his leg and looking at the ground. He really had never intended on _ever_ relying on John as someone to hang out with, but after practically being killed in the very neighborhood he now called his own, it was near impossible to catch a beat of sleep, and he refused to invite any of his friends to his new quarters.

"What, and miss out on everything happening over here?" John asked sarcastically, throwing his cigarette in a nearly empty beer bottle and kicking it off to the side. Truth be told, as boring as it could get, John liked it when his house was uneventful. It was better than the alternative.

Nonetheless, Bender slipped on about three shirts and a coat before hopping out his window and leading the jock to a small diner he knew of. Besides the beer and dope, he really hadn't eaten anything all day and he knew he'd never fall asleep when his stomach was practically eating itself.

After Andrew had managed to order just about everything on the menu, and John got a small burger that he was sure was past his expiration date and was probably going to kill him, Andrew started yapping about something or other, something that Bender didn't really care enough to pay attention to.

"You know Bender, you really should start going back to school," Andrew said, finally earning himself John's attention, "this isn't the kind of place you want to be stuck in. I've only been here a few days and I already want to go back to my own fucking home." He explained, evoking unintended anger in John.

"Screw that. Mind your own fucking business, Sporto. You think I don't know all that? I'm not a fucking moron; I know what I'm doing, so mind your own fucking business." John declared. Lies. All lies. He had no idea what he was doing. He was watching his own future get destroyed, and there wasn't a lick of help he could support to the situation.

"Whatever, it was just a suggestion. You don't need to get all bunged up about it." Andrew remarked as he took a large bite of one of the three cheeseburgers he had ordered. It was times like these that made John understand why they had suddenly went poor.


	5. the moment

Disclaimer: I do not own the breakfast club

Why should he go to school? There was no way John Bender could possibly graduate. Even if he started getting straight A's, he was sure he was pretty much fucked. All he was going to achieve by pulling his ass out of the house and making an appearance at school would be to make nasty jokes and suggestions about his peers, and eventually make his way behind the bleachers to smoke his remaining cigarettes. That wasn't worth the walk, especially with his earlobe still ripped wide open.

School, however, did have its certain appeals. For one thing, it was out of his God forsaken neighborhood. For another thing; there was simply nothing to do at home. His day would go the same as it always did on days he skipped, he'd sit outside and chain smoke until the cold air forced him back inside, where he'd be greeted with a welcoming slap across the face, which would result in him retorting back outside. It was like a pointless, endless circle.

So John had decided to go to school for the first time since Friday, when he had lead the whole school outside by just the simplest pull of a switch. It would give him the opportunity to take some nerds money, which would get him at least another pack of cigarettes.

When John decided to make his appearance, however, he had never expected to find himself standing face to face with Clair, who had literally ran into him during their first period English class. He never noticed her being there before; all richies looked the same, and had he been able to anticipate this meeting, he would have spent first period behind the bleachers.

"Clair, what are you doing? He's probably undressing you with his eyes, get away from him." One of the mini-Clairs warned. She didn't move however; she couldn't. She had expected that when the time came, she'd know exactly what to do, but to just run into him in front of all her friends…she was at a loss.

"Yeah, Clair. What are you doing?" John asked, challenging her. He knew her kindness was only temporary, and he'd known that as soon as she was back with her friends, it'd be the same old Clair, but why the hell did she have to stare at him like that? Was she waiting for him to be the asshole first so she wouldn't have to?

Clair remained unmoved. She wanted to keep her promise; she really did. After the power speech she'd given John the day before, how could she not? But it was so sudden! What the hell would she say?

"Would you three like to take a seat so I could maybe start my class?" the teacher asked in an irritated and impatient tone. Now everyone was watching. This made it harder. And it wasn't like she could blow him off now and then come back around and be his friend later. She had to choose, right there. Either do the hardest thing possible and keep the only person who mattered in her life, or take the easy route and never see him again.

"Clair come on! I'll get you a copy of the obituaries after he gets killed in some thug fight and you can look at the picture all you want, but right now-" mini-Clair was cut off by a glare from her best friend, who suddenly found the ability to move again. From what she'd seen the other day, with his ear and then the knife fight, Clair wasn't so sure she wouldn't see him in the obituaries someday.

"Would you just shut up? Come on John, you can sit by us." Clair instructed, not bothering to ask her friends for permission to invite a new guest into their loop. It was now John's turn to stare like a moron. She was…keeping her promise? That would make her a decent person. It was impossible for a richie to be a decent person. She was defying laws of nature.

"Oh no. He's not sitting by us. Clair, if you want to do some help the needy work or whatever this is about, you do it without bothering us." The other girl asked as the teacher impatiently tapped her foot. The girl was almost positive that this was some elaborate hoax so Clair could get prom queen checks from people who didn't typically vote, and she wasn't playing into it just so her friend could get a title that was already hers anyways.

"Fine, then we'll sit somewhere else. Come on John." Clair said, further pulling at Bender's hand. He considered blowing her off. It was probably what he should have done anyways. She was risking more than she seemed to know for something that wasn't natural anyways. But her hand was so soft in his…

* * *

"What the hell are you doing?" Bender asked as he entered the lunchroom to find Mark, dumping pixie stick sugar on a brown paper bag. He almost smiled to himself as he remembered Allison, doing something similar with her sandwich. He caught himself, however, not feeling up to having to explain the smile.

"I heard you can get high off of pixie sticks, and trust me, I need it right now." Mark explained as he shook the bag and lightly blew on the sugar so that it would align in a straight line and threw the empty cylinders at some passing kid.

"What could it possibly be this time?" John asked as he rolled his eyes and took a seat. Mark always had some stupid situation which required him getting high to feel better. Of course, John wasn't exactly clean himself, but he made sure to only whip out the dope when he _really _needed it. Such cases involved tough beatings and accidentally spilling the beans about his fucktard of a father to a group of strangers. Mark found a paper cut to be the cause to getting high.

"Nicky fucking left me for some fucking drug dealer. He's some queer weirdo, but according to her, he's got dough and I don't. Big deal." Mark raged as he placed a finger over his left nostril, put his head next to the sweet dust, and blew up through his right nostril. Probably the dumbest thing he'd ever done.

"God damn it!" Mark shouted as he covered his nose and groaned in pain. He was going to completely _kill _the douchebag who had told him that pixie sticks were the same as coke. It was more like snorting a family of fucking fire ants. John, on the other hand, could only laugh.

"Serves you right. Besides, Nicky was a slut, you should be happy that bitch is gone. If you want her back, go strolling the street corners at night, you'll find at least ten girls just like her, but if you're acting like such a pansy over some candy, you're going to completely go psychotic with yourself when you get crabs." Bender warned as he blew the remaining dust at Mark's face.

"Fuck Nicky, can I have her?" Mark asked, motioning to Clair, who was now walking over to their table, her eyes intently on the two of them. This was a question that earned Mark a well overdue slap in the forehead.

"Hey John, is this one of your friends?" Clair asked with pink cheeks as she remembered being scolded that fateful day in detention, and how angry John had become when she had assumed that all his friends were fuck ups who only saw girls as something to fuck and leave.

_"Don't you ever talk about my friends! You know any of my friends, you don't look at any of my friends, and you certainly wouldn't condescend to speak to any of my friends!" _That was exactly what he had said, just a little while ago, and he had been filled with ultimate anger.

"Well doll, that would explain why we're sitting together, now wouldn't it? My name's Mark" He said, trying to decide whether there was really a pristine richie in front of him, at his table, or if he had actually managed to get high off of children's candy. Either way, it was definitely a win-win situation.

"Well, I guess," Clair said awkwardly as she shifted her feet, "can I sit down?" She finally asked, so nervous that her voice had actually managed to crack a little. She had never actually had to ask to sit down somewhere before. She always had an unspoken invitation to sit anywhere she wanted. Except there.

John looked away from her. He could have easily told her yes, but he wanted to see Mark's reaction first. It was important that Mark be alright with a richie hanging around them. After all, Mark had been his best friend since he could remember. Mark had brought him food on numerous occasions where he had not eaten in days, and Mark had given him stitches that time he had slit his bicep open during a 'bad night', when he couldn't go to the hospital without chancing they'd ask questions. Mark was an important part of his life, he wasn't going to trade him for anyone; even Clair.

"It's a free country, ain't it?" Mark asked, moving the chair next to John out with his feet from under the table. He didn't know what to think of Clair yet. True, she seemed to be friendly towards his best friend, but she had money. It was obvious by the clothes he wore. She had money and he didn't, so why should he be kind to her?

There was a long awkward silence. Neither one of the three knew what to say. The tension was nearly tangible. Finally, it became more than John could take. He wasn't used to seeing Mark silent, it was bizarre and he didn't like it. It was like sitting with someone else who looked like Mark, but wasn't.

"Clair and I got high in detention." John informed, taking a sigh and changing the position of the way he was sitting. Of course, this immediately changed Mark's demeanor. Anyone that John would give marijuana to had to be cool. John never gave _any _of his dope up. Even with his connections, it was too hard to acquire more after running out. On the rare occasion he'd share some with Mark, but that was it.

"Alright! Look at that John, you found a decent richie! You should get your name in the fucking national anthem! Hey cherry, I'm sleeping over John's house Friday. His dad's supposed to be out of town or some stupid shit like that. You should join us." Mark suggested, making Clair wonder if _everyone _in the school called her Cherry behind her back.

"No, forget that. She's not coming." John said, suddenly in a very serious mood. Even with Joe gone, his house was no place for someone like Clair. She'd probably get contact high just from touching the furniture. Besides that, it was bad enough he went to school in damaged clothes, but he didn't need Clair seeing the interior of his house. It wasn't particularly something he was proud of.

"Oh c'mon man! Nobody will be there, you're never going to have this chance again!" Mark persuaded, happy to see that his antisocial friend, who hated just about everything that breathed, had found a girl that he thought was cool enough to share dope with. And now he wasn't even going to seize the one chance he had to have her spend the night? That was just weak.

"Look, I said fucking no, so drop it, okay?" John asked, appalled that his friend would even think to ask _anyone _else to spend a night at the Bender house without knowing what they were getting into, let alone a skinny rich girl. She'd probably trip on a cord and hit her head on a broken beer bottle on the way down.

Clair, on the other hand, didn't understand why she was uninvited. After all, she already knew about John's predicament and had proven that she didn't care. Besides that, his father wouldn't be there. There was no reason for him to be worried, so why was he so annoyed with the thought of her staying?

John rolled his eyes as he looked at the girl. She looked like she was ready to cry. But what was he supposed to do? His house wasn't guest friendly, his house wasn't even friendly for the people who lived there! What if she got hungry? Or tired? She was used to satin sheets, how would she fall asleep anywhere in his shithole of a house? The fact that she was willing to trust him enough to be asleep in his house, was amazing in itself.

"Look, if you really want to, then fine, but it's not going to be fun for you. It's not like I have some fucking perfect house like yours. You'd probably be more comfortable in a fucking trailer. You're just going to be miserable and I don't have a car to drive you home in." John warned, hoping Clair would change her mind and never bring it up again. Unfortunately, she seemed overjoyed with his change of heart.

Mark tried his hardest to hide the snickers that came bursting out. He then made the sound of a whip snapping against someone's back, indicating that this girl, whoever the hell she was, had managed to whip the unwhipable; and he wasn't even fucking her!

"Oh and one more thing, you're sleeping on the couch, do you hear? I don't trust this fucking asshole," Bender explained, pointing to Mark. His proposal would seem rude to anyone who had never been in the Bender residence, but in actuality, the couch was probably at least ten times more comfortable than any bed, if you could call them that, in the house, "and I'm not going to be here on Friday, so Mark is going to have to take you to my place." he finished, wondering if his idea was completely rational.

"You won't be here? Why the fuck not?" Mark asked, angry that Bender was skipping yet another day. School sucked ass without him there, and Mark didn't have the luxury of parents who didn't give a shit about his education. He couldn't just decide not to go, his parents would probably drag him if they had to.

"Because, I don't feel like it. What am I your boyfriend? We don't need to be together twenty four seven, you fag." John joked, though he was slightly annoyed. First Nina needed to question all his whereabouts, now Mark? It wasn't like he missed a lot of days because he was sitting at home in his pj's watching cartoons.

"Fuck you. Fine, if you're going to be an ass, how 'bout we hang tomorrow?" Mark asked, equally annoyed. John was the only guy he'd ever met that was truly decent. True, he was an ass who always had something to say about everything, and he seemed to lack all feelings of compassion, but it was necessary. John got fucked by anyone he was vulnerable around. That aside, he was a good guy, and probably the only person Mark could stand being around for long periods at a time.

"Can't. Nina's having her new fucking boy toy over and I gotta be there for some reason. It's fucking lame. I wouldn't even go but I was promised a six pack." John explained, hoping Mark wouldn't take that as an "I get three you get three" kind of deal. That beer was going straight in a Tupperware dish, and put in storage until the next time he got pummeled.

"Fucking bitch whore." Mark responded, taking the pixie stick he had saved for a later high, had his experiment worked, and pouring it down his throat.


	6. the decision

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from The Breakfast Club

Sometimes, John wished that someone at school would just have a seizer or something, anything to break away from the day to day bore fest for what, at least three minutes? Making the school day interesting was becoming more and more difficult, especially now that things were changing.

As he entered his house after yet another uneventful day, John was surprised to see Nina tidying up a bit. Judging by the drastic changes in its appearance, she had been at it all day. Had John knew Nina was _able _to work a broom; he would have had her do the cleaning long before he accepted responsibility as a housewife. Needless to say, he wasn't very exceptional at it anyways.

"Don't forget," Nina said as soon as she saw her brother enter the room, "that guy is coming over today. Why don't you put on something more respectful? I don't want him to leave before I even get anything out of him. I'll throw in a carton of cigarettes if you can find nice pants and a shirt that isn't ripped." Nina bargained, never really caring for John's "if it's ruined, layer it" take on life. Unfortunately, he didn't have the money to develop a new take.

"I'm not the one fucking him, why does it matter what I wear?" John asked in an uncaring tone. It was enough that he was actually meeting her new fuck buddy, he wasn't going to dig around his mess of a room for something that wasn't completely worn down just to look nice in front of the prick.

"John, could you watch your language? Ugh! This fucking thing is broken!" Nina said in a frustrated sigh as she aggressively flicked the switch the vacuum back and forth. Had Nina ever used it before, she would have known that the vacuum sometimes needed a swift kick to get it going.

John sighed and delivered the kick the vacuum needed. Unfortunately, he had just had a particularly bad day, so his kick was a lot more damaging than he had planned. His foot went through the stiff bag, putting a hole in it and causing dust to fly everywhere. The bag would have to be changed and everything would need to be dusted a second time.

Suddenly, an extremely angry Joe Bender backhanded his son, causing him to fly to the wall and crack open his bottom lip. He then coursed and scolded John for ruining everything he touched, telling him that he didn't seem happy until he trashed the whole house, and finally ordering him to let Nina do her job, and concentrate on his own.

"Fuck." John said under his breath as he touched the freshly ripped open flesh of his lip. He'd busted it good, and already had blood coming down his chin. What the fuck was Joe Bender doing home anyways? He was supposed to be gone already, out of town on his stupid ass hunting trip.

The doorbell rang, disrupting John from his confusion. Nina's date had arrived early, and she was given no time to fix the mess John had created. Coursing before putting on a host's smile, she walked to the door, opening it and greeting yet another guy she had planned to use. This guy, however, was different. This guy sent shivers down John's back.

"Oh no." Richard Vernon said as he glared at John. He was so taken back to see the little shit ball in the same space as yet another one of his dates, that it took him a moment to realize he was on the ground with a bloodied face; not typically the John Bender he was used to. He didn't care, however. It didn't matter to him who was beating the shit out of John, just as long as someone was teaching the ass a lesson.

"Please excuse John. He got into a small fight on his way home and was just going to clean up his lip, weren't you John?" Nina asked, hoping he would for once take her hint and not be an asshole about what had just happened.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I was about to do." John said, not taking his eyes off of his principal. As much as he wanted to go against Nina, punish her for going out with the one man that John hated almost as much as his father, it was too risky. Vernon couldn't know the truth, even if it would successfully drive him away. Nobody could.

"Well at least someone can control that boy." Richard said while still in earshot of John. He was in complete awe by seeing someone tell John to do it, and then watching him actually _do it_. If he didn't already adore this woman before, he was ready to marry her now. She was like superwoman.

"You know John?" Nina asked, concerned by the haunting fact that this man couldn't possibly know her little brother, unless of course he was a police officer or owned one of the houses he had egged when he and Mark were bored.

"Unfortunately. I'm his principal. That boy is one of the biggest problematic students we have. He's the only student to ever get eight Saturday detentions in one day. I'm going to have to get someone to cover for me all those Saturdays just so you and I can go out." Vernon explained, not hesitant to tell his new young girl just how fucked up her brother was.

"Don't bother. If John has detention every Saturday for the next two months, I'll have to wait for him to come home, and after that, someone should stay here and make sure he doesn't go out. He certainly doesn't deserve to go out the same day he serves a detention." Nina said with a sigh, doing her best "oh well" voice that had remained unchallenged to the day.

"Well, I mean, I suppose I could always forget about those detentions. I mean, it really wasn't that bad, I guess. I'll drop them this one time…" Vernon said, not exactly thrilled with what he was promising, but not overjoyed either with the thought of losing yet another date because of Bender.

Nina's smile grew larger than it had ever been before. John was going to be so happy with her.

* * *

"You must be a fucking idiot!" John shouted just as soon as Vernon's car pulled out of the driveway. Nina had brought home some assholes in the past, but _Vernon_? It was like she was _trying _to find the biggest douche bag in Illinois, just incase their father killed over and he needed someone to replace him in making John's life miserable.

"Why, because I'm trying to be happy and support all of us? That makes me an idiot?" Nina demanded, equally upset by her brother's actions. All she had asked was that he behave himself. She never asked him for _anything _and he couldn't even do that one little thing for her? Just on the small chance it got them out of their fucking pit of hell?

"Yeah? Well I don't remember asking for your fucking support!" John spat, turning his back to walk out the door. This was getting fucking ridiculous. First he's got a fucking lunatic father, then a jock living next door, a richie cherry as a friend, and now his fucking sister was getting it from his asshole principal? No, he was quite done.

"Where are you going? You think you're just going to make me feel like shit and leave me here like you always do? Not this time, get your ass back here!" Nina demanded, gaining John's attention by her ballsy challenge alone. He slowly spun to face her, giving her the threatening look he had used to make so many people want to jump from their skin.

"You know, I never asked to be here either! All I fucking want is to fucking get by and maybe see things improve a little, but it's obviously never gonna happen. No matter what I do, you never change. Sometimes looking at you makes me fucking sick! You fucking hate everyone, you fucking get pissed at the drop of a hat, and you don't even fucking care about your own fucking life! You're just like dad!" Nina screamed, immediately covering her mouth after the last bit. She hadn't meant to say that. Once she started screaming at him, it just all…came out.

"You know what; I don't really give a fuck who you wanna fuck! Just leave me, the fuck alone!" John said, and holding back insane temptations to slap his older sister until she went flying into the refrigerator, he stormed back to his room and slammed the door. He then ripped open a case of beer and started to chug faster than a fucking train.

"John! I didn't mean it! Open up!" Nina shouted through the door, slamming her fists on the wood in desperation. When John as pissed, he was unpredictable. She was surprised he hadn't taken that stupid switchblade of his and skinned her alive for what she had said. Joe Bender completely repulsed John in every way imaginable. Calling him anything like him was the biggest insult possible.

John threw his newly finished can in a pile with the other two he had managed to chug in the time Nina apologized and started on a fourth. She was a fucking liar. She said it, so she meant it. She could at least have the fucking backbone to stand behind it. And so what if John was like his father? It wasn't like he was going to live long enough to have a no good fucking son to beat on anyways. His father would make sure of that…

* * *

Bender woke up in the middle of the floor with an empty can of beer in his hand. Without bothering to sit up, he looked out the window to find the sun setting; he couldn't have been out of it for more than a few hours.

Sleep, once again, was obviously out of the question. It seemed as if John had not gotten a wink of sleep since that fucking Saturday detention. How could he? It had fucked up everything. The world was spinning on a new axis, and he wasn't sure he liked it. His old life sucked, it was just a series of drinking and getting the shit beat out of him, with the occasional practical joke, but it was familiar. He knew the old life. It was a routine life; he didn't have to think about anything. Just do it.

Now, he didn't know what to do about anything. He wanted nothing to do with that asshole jock, yet there he was, right fucking next door, asking to hang out all the time. And what could he do? He had nothing better to do. He wanted nothing more than to have Clair in his life. She was soft, quiet, and clean. It was something new and refreshing to him, but at the same time, it was too fucking difficult to have her there. The only thing he knew for sure was that he would rather take a spoon and take his own fucking eyes out than to see Vernon in his house again.

John sighed and pulled himself up. He wasn't going to get any sleep at all until he figured this shit out. He needed to stop putting it off and figure out exactly what he was going to do about everything. He needed to get his grip on life back; he couldn't just go around letting things play out. As far as he was concerned, his old life that had trapped him for years, and the new life that seemed so promising yet so impossible were ripping him apart, and until he stopped it and let one option completely yank him to its side, he wasn't going to get an ounce of sleep.

John slipped out of his window and started walking down the street. It didn't take long for Andrew to pull up next to him, asking if he needed a ride. He had faced the same decision John had; accept change or fight for his old life. He, however, had decided by then. He wanted change. He had no choice but to accept it; his _home _had changed. He was no better than John now, so why not be his friend? He needed a friendly face in the neighborhood.

John responded to his invitation with a dirty glare. Andrew was one of the reasons his head was all stirred up, how dare he make things even harder by having already made up his own mind? How could a fucking jock be less confused than him? Why was it so simple for Andrew to decide to change everything he knew? Was this proof that John really was just a coward? That he couldn't accept a good thing when he saw it, just because he was too scared to take the chance?

However, truth be told, John had a hangover. Every fucking pair of headlights that passed was like a fucking hammer to the head, and he just wanted to sit down. Scratch that, he just wanted to lie the fuck down and go to sleep, but apparently he had to settle for the next best thing.

Without saying a word, John jumped in the front seat of the car. He needed a cigarette like fucking mad, but he wasn't going to bother asking someone like Andrew if he had one, when he knew the answer. He'd have to find Mark or get dropped off at the drugstore or something.

"Where are you going?" Andrew asked, putting the car in drive and slowly making his way down the street. His voice was like fucking needles to his brain. He didn't even remember passing out, but he had to have had more to drink than that six pack. He'd never had a worse hangover in his life.

"Like I fucking care. Just drive jock strap." John ordered, resting his head against the window and squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel his stomach twist, but he couldn't figure out whether it was from all the sickening things that were taking place, or because he had to throw up.

"Are you okay man?" Andrew asked, not used to see the hyperactive John Bender seem so drained. As they passed under a street light, he quickly did a lay over to see if it looked like he was bleeding or if anything looked broken. Nothing. He just looked tired. And sick. Nonetheless, Bender slowly started to nod, before his eyes popped wide open and his answer changed.

"Fuck, no, pull the fucking car over. Now man!" John immediately ordered. He threw himself out of the car before it was even at a complete stop and ordered Andrew not to look before he threw up every ounce of beer he had chugged just a few hours before. He then wiped his mouth and threw his head back.

This was just fucking great. On top of everything, Andrew had heard him get sick. That fucking jock was probably having a field day in the car. He was already adjusted to every fucking thing, and John was a total fucking mess. He couldn't even hold down some beer. They'd had some unannounced battle of "who's better" since the moment they had met, and Andrew had clearly won.

"Hey, uh, you coming back to the car?" Andrew asked, not really knowing what else to say. He watched as Bender's head whipped around to face him. He'd just thrown up all over the fucking pavement, and probably smelled like dead fish and shit, but he was being asked to get back in someone's car?

John definitely wasn't going to pass the bizarre invite up. After all, now that the sick feeling was gone, he was fucking exhausted again. He didn't know if he could walk to the car without passing out, let alone back home; not that he wanted to go back anyways.

They sat in silence for an hour before John had finally had enough. Though opening his mouth was more work than his muscles were up for, and his whole jaw was now so stiff it was like he had just sucked some guy's giant dick, the silence made it harder to think. As if Andrew was watching his every movement; he couldn't concentrate on anything except what he was doing. It was unbearable.

"Have you talked to Brian?" he asked, not bothering to open his eyes. His words were practically slurred and barely audible. He considered at least picking his head up so Andrew didn't have to lean closer to hear, but that was just too much effort. The next thing he took from the drugstore was going to be fucking narcotics.

"No. I don't have any classes with him. He must be in all honors courses. Have you seen him?" Andrew asked, surprised that John had even brought him up. He hadn't seemed to care too much for him; in fact, he'd seemed disgusted in him. His fucking caring parents and his fucking promised future.

"Yeah. He's in my shop class." John informed, almost smiling to himself when he remembered the shelf Brian had tried making as extra credit. He wanted to earn back some of the points he'd lost on the stupid elephant. The finished product should have gotten him negatives points; it was the worst excuse for a shelf he'd ever seen.

"Did you say hi?" Andrew asked, his spirit somewhat lighter. He was actually curious to find out how the kid was. He was a nerd, and sometimes he was annoying as fuck, but he was a good kid. Probably the most decent out of everyone who was there that Saturday.

"No." John responded coldly, wishing he had never even brought it up. It wasn't like he had chosen not to converse with Brian because he was afraid of what people thought. He could give a fuck what people thought. Hell, people would probably start thinking _better _of him if he made friends with a geek.

No, it was the fact that Brian was so easily hurt. If he decided he suddenly didn't want anything to do with it, the others would be fine. Andrew and Clair would be pissed, and he didn't see Allison getting too caught up over it. After all, her life had changed in a completely fantastic way; why get upset over the criminal not wanting to join in? Brian, however, would take it personally. It was better to just not give him any hope at all if he wasn't sure he was going to stick around.

"I would. You know, talk to Brian, if I saw him. I just haven't. I'm really trying to change. Everything we talked about made me realize that there's no reason things have to be like this if they don't make me happy." Andrew explained, finally earning himself the privilege of John picking his head up to look at him.

"Isn't it hard?" John asked, not meaning to sound like he cared so much, but how could he not? Andrew had the answer to his problems. Andrew knew how to change, and John clearly didn't. Andrew knew how to make up his mind, and Andrew knew how to make himself happy. How had he done so with such ease?

"Changing? Yeah, it's really hard. But, man, I lost it in that circle. I'm not happy with my life, so it's wroth changing, even if it's hard. Things have to get worse before they can get better, right? And it's like wrestling, if you don't try like hell to get what you want, then you don't deserve the win when you get it." He answered, watching as John's head fell back to the glass of the window.

"You know what else is like wrestling? Gay sex." He responded, knowing without even opening his eyes that Andrew was rolling his. John was, however, thinking hard about what was said. As much as he hated to admit it, Andrew was right. He _had _to be right. He'd looked so happy lately.

John wasn't happy either. He never was. As demented as it was, that fucking detention was the best day of his life. That was a clue that things had to change. He never really had the choice, and that's why it was so hard to make up his mind. He couldn't go on living like he was just because it was hard to change. He'd been through harder, after all. It was going to be the worst fucking time of his life, but who gave a shit if it meant that after it was all done, he'd be happy? Really happy, without having to escape to some accidental detention. Who gave a shit if it got him out of the Bender house?

"Hey Sporto? How bout we call it a night?" John asked, watching as the jock nodded in response. He would be able to sleep when he got home. He knew exactly what he was going to do. He was going to stop smoking that fucking dope, save his money, and buy a suit and some hair gel. He was going to get himself a job, and buy the time he was eighteen, he was going to have enough to get an apartment. He was going to drop out of school as soon as was an adult, and get a second job. If he wasn't wasting his money on his fucking dope all the time, he'd see a dramatic change in income. He was going to get the fuck away from Nina, Vernon, his fucking mom, and his old man. He was going to get himself a new life, no matter how hard he had to fight.


	7. the TV

I do not own any characters from the Breakfast club

John Bender sat at his kitchen table, bored out of his mind and having nothing better to do than to watch his mom cook dinner. This was a strange occurrence; I only happened when whoever she was fucking at the moment behind his father's back left her. She'd always have a day of nonstop crying, and then be motherly for a week at most before finding someone new. Not that he was about to complain. He was starving, especially after throwing up everything in his stomach the night before.

Katherine Bender was a short, skinny Jewish lady. She almost looked like an aunt compared to her tall, bulky Italian husband. She had soft brown hair and a gorgeous complexion, something John always thought odd, considering she smoked more than everyone in the house put together, which was really saying something. She had a raspy voice that had always been weird to listen to under the influence of marijuana.

"What are you doing? Don't you have homework or something to do?" she asked, stirring the sauce to the spaghetti and not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice. Her son was almost never in the house, and when he was, he was locked in his room, not sitting out watching her every move.

"No." John answered, short and simple. He loathed his mother almost as much as his father. It didn't matter that she'd never laid a hand on him, or even that every once in a while she'd be a real mother and provide food and clean the house. She watched as Joe knocked his son unconscious. It didn't even faze her. She left all the time, escaping to someone else's house and pretending like that was her family, whole John was stuck right where he was. She'd find the refrigerator empty, and instead of stocking it, she would just go to whoever she was having an affair with and take care of only herself.

"Well maybe you should. Get out of here, I'll tell you when dinner is done." Kate suggested, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the counter as the sauce shimmered. John remained unmoved, partly because he had nothing better to do, and partly because he was afraid she really wouldn't tell him when dinner was done, and he was fucking starving.

"I'm not lying John, I'll call you when it's done, it's gonna be about twenty more minutes. I'm not that bad of a mom you know." Kate said, hoping for some reinforcement from her son. Like hell he would. She deserved to feel like a bad parent because that's what she was. He sure as hell wasn't going to tell her she was doing fine just to make her feel better about herself.

"Yeah, you're a real fucking Martha Stewart." John said with a sarcastic laugh. He hated to admit it, but Nina was a better mom than Katherine, and she was only a few years older than John. At this moment in his life, he wanted her to burn in a fire, but at least Nina cared if he ate, and even if she did stand by while he got the shit beat out of him, she still stuck around. She didn't take off to someone else's house.

"Oh yeah? If I'm such a bad mother, then how come I got you a birthday present?" Kate asked, a clever smirk on her face. She had never seen her son speechless before, but she had planned something that would make him lose all words (after, of course, hours of crying and self pitying. Self pity came before parenting).

"My birthday was Saturday Kate. I was at detention all day, remember? Or has the tobacco finally gotten to your head?" John asked, not particularly caring either way. He'd gotten a diamond stud and a kiss from a soft girl, and a chance to change his life from everyone else. Even if Kate _had _remembered his birthday, no pack of cigarettes or case of beer could have compared to what everyone else had given him.

"So it's a little late. Big deal. Do you want it now or after dinner? You know what; better give it to you now. Before your father gets home." She said as she left to room to acquire the gift she had gotten only earlier that day. This was the first actual gift she had gotten her son, and she was ecstatic to see his response. She would rather not have the responsibility of a child, but since she had one, she thought it would be nice if every once in a while he at least thought of her as a mom.

John nearly fell backwards in his chair when his mother entered the room with a wrapped box. He never had a gift that he had to rip paper off of before he knew what it was. That fact aside, the box was of decent size. What cheap gift would require such a large box? He half expected to find a dead dog in the box with a note that said 'just kidding'.

"Well are you gonna open it or look at it all day?" Kate asked, getting impatient with her sons starring. He looked back up at her for a moment, his eyes wide, before tearing off a strip of the wrapping paper. Now he knew why children got excited to receive wrapped gifts; it was the best thing ever to get to destroy something, and find a gift instead of a beating afterwards.

After completely destroying the paper and the box in it, John found himself looking at a leather jacket. The overpowering smell suggested that it was new, and the fact that Kate had actually remembered to rip off the price tags despite her lack of experience at gift giving suggested that the jacket was not purchased.

"You steal this?" John asked, stroking the 'genuine leather' tag on the inside of his prize to prove that it was real, not some cold turkey hallucination. There was no way their family budget included the funds for real leather anything, and besides the material, it was nice. It was shiny, smooth, and padded. He wouldn't even have to layer it with any other coat just to get a sufficient insulation.

"Who cares? It's yours. I figured you needed one when I saw you wearing my old coats. No offense, but you look like a fag in denim, and a fucking drug dealer in my old trench. Do you like it?" she asked, nearly losing it over her son's dumbfounded expression. Never in her life had she seen him having trouble picking out the right words to say.

"Yeah, it's um, it's cool. Thanks…" he said, not taking his eyes off the jacket.

* * *

Friday had come, and John's father still hadn't left for his trip. He finally discovered that the trip had been cancelled, which was really fucking nice to find out at two pm on a day he had skipped school. How the fuck was he supposed to tell Mark and Clair not to come? On the phone he didn't own?

Besides that, there was no longer a _point _to a sleepover, even if Joe had left. The whole point was to get so wasted that they'd both pass out in his room. This was something they only got to do when Joe was gone, because Mark's parents were more actively involved in their son's life and would have caught them. The boys loved it when Joe went on his hunting trips, but after the drinking adventure John had experienced earlier that week, he wasn't exactly thrilled to get trashed again anytime soon.

"Fuck." Bender said under his breath as he watched Clair and Mark coming down the street. This was going to be a fucking disaster. How the hell was he supposed to explain why they suddenly couldn't sleep over? He couldn't admit a second time the conditions of his household to Clair.

"Get out of here. Plans changed." John said once they were at the top of his driveway. The smiles on their faces immediately became that of annoyance. They had planned this days ago; it wasn't exactly easy for them to convince any of their parents to let them spend a night at John Bender's house. Lies had to be created, and Clair didn't have her normal friends around to use them as a cover up. She had to tell them she was staying with Allison.

"I can't just get out of here! I have no where else to go! If I got home now my parents are going to ask questions, and it's not like I can just tell them Allison and I got into a fight. I lost all my friends; they'll make a monster deal out of it if I lose another." Clair complained, slightly bothered by the situation. The whole reason she had lost all her friends in the first place was because of John, and now he was going to act like this?

"Well my fucking dad never left so you can't stay here. What about Sporto?" John asked, searching deep within his mind for any other option other than his house. Unfortunately, at the moment, all he could think about was blowing his doobage. Quitting was a lot harder than he thought. After all; he had been good at it.

"Andrew's going to be at a wrestling match all night. It's an hour away. This is the only option." Clair explained, watching as John licked the inside of his lip and let out another silent 'fuck'. He knew agreeing to her staying was a bad idea, he should have never told her yes in the first place.

"Look John, your dad's not going to try anything with us all there unless he wants to end up in jail. My parents aren't going to let me take her back to my house, just let her stay. We'll take care of her." Mark promised, not waiting for John's answer before he advanced to the door. Clair, on the other hand, waited, starring at John to see his reaction.

"You stay in my room the whole time, do I make myself clear?" He asked, not helping but being able to smile himself when one crept up on Clair's face. She responded with the single word 'crystal', and the two smiled at each other for a few more minutes; until Mark started making whip noises again.

* * *

Night had come quickly for the three teenagers. John's house had definitely taken some getting used to by Clair, and not solely because of how run down it was. She'd been in Andrew's new establishment, but at least Andy's place was homely. John's lacked any pictures or anything that suggested a loving family lived there. Things were broken all over the place, and beer bottles lay scattered among the floor in every room. The house even_ smelled _like a brewing company.

She'd eventually settled in, however. The three had done nothing but drink and laugh all night. She was surprised that John and his friend were so funny, and even more surprised that Bender seemed to be watching how much he drank, instead of just downing everything he could.

"So you're really quitting man? It's for real?" Mark asked, still in denial that the infamous stoner, John Bender, had just up and decided to give up marijuana, and without giving any reason. Bender smoked it at least once a day, even more when he got it especially bad from his father. It helped him settle down; what the fuck was he going to do now? Just learn to _deal _with the fact that his own father, his own blood related father, found no hesitation to beat the shit out of him no matter how much he yelled out or if he passed out?

"Yeah. I need to save my fucking money so I can get out of this shithole. Want my leftover stash?" Bender asked, pulling it out of the hole in his mattress before Mark was even able to answer. Of course he wanted it. He was the biggest fucking burn out alive. Getting a whole bag of weed for free was like fucking Christmas and his birthday falling on the same day.

"Bender, if there weren't a lady in the room, I would kiss you on that big kosher nose of yours and rip off all your clothes. Honestly." Mark said, wide eyed, as John tossed him the bag of weed. It was good shit too. Through John's ability to talk to people, he had gotten himself amazing connections. It was a shame he wasn't going to need them anymore. Hopefully.

"Keep your fantasies to yourself dirtbag." John warned, but with a smile on his face. Nothing bad had happened. John Bender had actually been able to hang out with friends without getting trashed or high, in his own house, and nothing bad had happened. It was like some miracle. First the leather jacket, now this. It was like God was making up for everything he'd done to him.

"Damn. We're out of beer." Mark said, throwing his empty can at Bender's closet door. The noise made Clair jump just the slightest, and John's smile got even bigger. Seeing her in his room just seemed so…right; in a wrong kind of way.

"So? The old man's passed out. Come on." John said as he got up and led the way to his kitchen. This night was perfect; nothing was going to happen to any of them. In fact, this was probably the first night ever that John hadn't even received the slightest smack from his father. He'd had nights without injuries, but never a night with no abuse at all.

The three reported to the kitchen and piled as many cans in Mark's hands as he could carry. Of course, he was left to do the work of transporting them to the room, since he had devoured the most of them earlier, or at least, this was the reason John gave.

"Hey John, go left!" Mark called once they were in the living room. Once John was in good enough distance, he threw the bottle for him to catch. Unfortunately, Bender's foot got caught on a loose cord, and he ended up tripping before he reached the pass. The can passed John up completely, nailing the TV and shattering its screen.

"God dammit!" Joe Bender shouted from his bedroom. He was awake. He was awake and now the perfect night was over because he was going to fucking kill John. He'd broken the only TV in the house! Joe loved Sunday night football more than all the beer in the world, and John had broken the TV. He was going to take his son and beat the shit out of him until he couldn't breathe anymore. He was going to kill John, and he was going to do it in front of his best friend and the only girl he cared about.

"John come one!" Clair panicked, already in running position. His father was shuffling around in his room. He was coming to investigate the noise. John had five seconds to get his head start, and he was just going to stand there, looking at the shards of the TV screen with his big doe eyes and his mouth wide open?

John's chest was now heaving so intensely that the others could see his breathing through his shirt. He took a giant gulp before finally sprinting at full speed to his room, grabbing Clair on the way, practically dragging her because she couldn't keep up.

Mark, at that point, was already waiting in the room. He had taken off long before; if John was going to be a fucking idiot and just stare at the mess, he wasn't going to stand around watch him get punished.

"Mother fucker!" John heard from the living room. He had found the TV. Once again, his body was overcome by the paralysis of fear. This was it. He was going to die, right there, before he ever got out of the shithole of a house. He felt his body vibrate with his shaking in fear. All he could think about was death. Would it hurt? Would it take long? Would he be knocked unconscious first? What would Joe do after he killed his son?

"John, move!" Clair shouted as she heard heavy footprints coming down the hall. This was the side of Bender that nobody saw. This was the Bender that had run out of smart ass comments. This bender didn't have an evil smirk or even the slightest hint of anger on his face. The only emotion this John displayed was pure, concentrated fear.

Joe Bender threw open the door, and immediately, John had one reflex; fucking run. He tried darting around his father, but was grabbed by the hair before he could fully escape. John cursed himself as his father dragged his body behind him. He should have gotten a fucking hair cut before he let his hair grow to an excess that could be pulled.

As soon as they reached the living room, John's face was thrown down at the shards of glass on the floor. Without lifting his head, he raised his eyes to find that Mark and Clair had followed him, and were not starring wide eyed from the doorframe. Fucking great. An audience to his death.

"Look what you fucking did! How the hell am I supposed to watch the game now! That fucking television was worth more than your fucking no good life! I told your fucking mom to get an abortion when she got knocked up with you, but no, that fucking cunt had to deliver a fucking shit bag like you! Fucking look at it!" Joe shouted as he angrily pointed at the shards on the ground. His TV was gone. His world was gone, and it was all because of his no good fucking son.

Once again, John pulled himself back to his feet and took off, but his father nailed him in the nose before he could get far, and he was on the ground again. He heard Clair scream out, but his eyes were too watery to see her actions. That fucking hurt! He scooted himself what was left of the TV and sat with his back against it, trying to use it for support in picking himself up.

Joe Bender then walked up to him and kneed him in the mouth, continuing the "lesson". He watched as his son's head flew backwards, and then grabbed a chunk of his hair, yanking it and shoving his face to the ground. He then sent his foot flying into his stomach until the grunts ceased and John's eyelids became heavy.

"I'm gonna teach you to stay away from my fuckin' TV the same way I taught you to stay out of the fucking garage you fucking piece of shit!" Joe shouted before he turned the coffee table and lit one of the cigars he had sitting out. He then grabbed John by the hair once more, pulled him to the middle of the room, and yanked off both the shirts he was wearing.

John tried to squirm away, but Joe slammed his foot down in the middle of his bare back. He pushed him down to the ground and then bent over to hold the lit cigar on his son's shoulder blade.

The tan flesh on John's back immediately started to sizzle under the heat of the cigar. He threw his head down so his forehead was pressed to the floor, and used only his elbows to support the rest of his upper body. He bit his whole bottom lip down, but it only took seconds for his groans to turn into full out agonizing screams.

After two minutes of this torture, Joe smothered the flame on the ground next to his son's body before grabbing his coat and storming out of the house. Now he'd have to use his fucking drug money to get a new fucking TV.

Mark stayed frozen in his place, but it didn't take a second longer for Clair to run over to John's heaving body. His back and forehead were completely red and sweaty, and he was breathing so shallowly that he couldn't even speak.

"Look Cherry, go back to John's room and shut the door. I can take care of this. He doesn't want you in the room right now; we'll meet you in there. Go!" Mark demanded, watching as the scared girl scampered to John's room and slammed the door shut, putting her weight in front of it and breaking out in tears.

"Are you okay bud?" Mark asked, slowly taking a seat next to his bruised up friend. For the first time since the cigar was inflicted, John raised his head to glare at his friend. He had just gotten the shit beaten out of him and gotten a fucking third degree burn on his back in front of the girl he wanted to impress. No he was not okay, in any means of the word.

"Do I fucking look okay?" he asked, coursing to himself before pulling his body up into a sitting position. He took a deep sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed a fucking cigarette. No, he needed a fucking shotgun. His dad was a fucking lunatic; he was surprised he hadn't killed him.

"Look, go take care of Clair, okay? I gotta clean this shit up before he gets home." He finally said, calming down. He just had to keep the burn clean and it would heal fast. It could have been worse. He could have had his skull bashed in or something broken. It was over, and he needed to stop acting like such a pussy over it and move on.

Mark nodded and took off to John's room. He had difficulty opening the door, but eventually he managed. He sat down next to Clair, who was now crying hysterically, and pulled her into a hug. He didn't even try to feel her boobs. He knew what she was feeling; he was feeling the same way.

"Look, John's fine, okay? He's just cleaning up the mess, but he got up and everything's fine now. He doesn't even seem like it hurts anymore. He gets over this stuff quickly. This happened to him once before, he knows how to care for it and how to make sure it doesn't get infected, and it's really just a little burn. There are people who have had their whole bodies on fire. He's going to be okay." Mark assured, but to no help. Instead, Clair pulled herself free from his hug and glared at him.

"How can you say that? Did you even see what happened? His only father almost killed him! Do you have any idea how completely fucked up that is?" she asked, wiping fresh tears from her face and running her fingers through her hair. The image of John on the floor and the sound of him screaming played over and over again in her head.

"Look, I don't want to upset you anymore than you already are, but the fact is that this happens to him all the time. He's used to it. He'll be his annoying ass self again by the morning. It's extremely fucked up, I agree, but it's just the way things are for him. There's nothing we can do about it." Mark stated, only to be replied by a sarcastic snort.

"How about calling the cops and getting that creep arrested?" She asked, knowing Mark couldn't have been stupid enough to look past the most obvious method of helping John. Bender might have been afraid to pick up the phone and rat his father out, years of abuse took that ability from him long ago, but Mark wasn't afraid. Mark knew how to work a phone.

"No, Cherry, bad, bad Cherry," Mark scolded, hitting her on the nose with is finger, "this neighborhood isn't exactly Pleasantville. The cops get false abuse stories from teens that are just pissed off at their parents all the time. There's no way to prove that those injuries didn't come from any other fight. They're not going to arrest anyone down hear based on what some kid says, even if it was true, they don't give a shit about the people down here. We're nothing, and if Joe found out anyone talked to the cops at all, he'll kill John, and I mean that literally. John just needs to stay on the DL for a little bit until his father calmed down and he'll be fine." Mark assured, hoping this new richie had sense enough to follow directions. If she told, there'd be no beating the shit out of John and maybe stopping before he died, it'd be a shot to the head. There was no way Joe Bender was going to risk going to jail for child abuse, and murder was so much easier to hide. Corpses never ratted out their attackers.

* * *

Within two hours Mark was fast asleep, drinking off all the alcohol he had consumed. Clair on the other hand, found it near impossible to rest. She quietly walked out of the room and to the living room, where she found John, still shirtless, picking up shards of glass and throwing them in a garbage bag.

John looked up at Clair and immediately jumped to his feet, grabbing her by the wrist and practically dragging her to his room. He closed the door behind him, licked the inside of his lips, and starred meaninglessly at the floor. Anywhere else but Clair's eyes.

"So, you wanna spend the night again sometime?" He asked, trying to break the tension with a small joke. It wasn't funny this time. This time he was joking about something too serious, and way too soon after it happened. Clair was practically disgusted that he would think _now _was an appropriate time to crack a joke.

"Do you realize how worried I was? Were you picking up glass that whole time?" she asked, eyeing him as he sighed and made his way to the bed. Of course he had figured she was worried, but after what he'd been through, he needed time to cool off before he faced her again. He didn't care if making her worry was selfish; he needed to be away from her.

"No. I went outside to smoke before I cleaned it up. Look, Clair," He started, only to be cut off by her lips slamming into his. Clair pulled herself on his lap and pulled at his bottom lip with her own, unable to control any of the emotions leaking from her. The whole time he was gone, all she could think about was if he had died. If his father kicked him in the face all those times, instead of the stomach.

John, of course, was not about to interrupt her to finish what he was saying. He pulled her closer and pressed his own lips against her soft, glossy lips, kissing back and not stopping for breath when he found it difficult to breathe in his nose. He slid his hand under her shirt and laid it over her bra strap, pressing down on the skin around it with his fingers, while the other hand stayed firmly on her thigh to support her.

Clair dug her hands in his hair and pulled his head even closer to hers. Her mouth then left his and made a trail of kisses to his neck, before she dropped her hands to the zipper of his cargo pants, pulling it down.

This is where John stopped. He grabbed her hands and the two looked at each other, both equally confused by John's behavior. It wasn't that he had any problem making it with Clair, right there, on his shitty mattress, but that would mean making himself vulnerable to him. He'd have to give her permission to touch any part of his body that she wanted, and he couldn't do that. Not yet. God, he really was a fucking coward.

Instead, he put her hands down and lowered her on his bed, laying down next to her and putting his arm around her. He couldn't make himself vulnerable to her, but he could lay with her and smell the rose and milk smell of her hair all night.


	8. the unlucky day

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from The Breakfast club

Clair rubbed her eyes and sat up from her current position to get a view of her whereabouts. Beneath her, she saw John Bender, who was fast asleep and still had his arm around her. She took this opportunity to size him up. Without the layers of oversized clothes, all no doubt hand-me-downs from his father, John was only about half the size he appeared. There were a few raised scars, easily visible as they lay white on his pale skin, on his arms, but none no bigger than a quarter. His torso and back, on the other hand, had an even distribution of scarred and non-scarred skin. The shapes these scars came in where all different, and with some of them, she could even tell which object had caused it.

"Kate! Kate where the fuck are you?" Clair heard from behind the closed door. A slight shiver ran up her spine; it was Joe. For some reason, she had expected him not to return after beating the shit out his son and storming out the previous night. Such a stupid thought, and now he was back. He was going to do it again and again, because he somehow justified it to be right in his mind.

"I'm in the kitchen, Joe. What the fuck do you want now." A woman's voice called. It was raspy, loud, and filled with annoyance. It seemed that nobody in the house could stand Joe Bender, yet he walked around like he was the biggest thing in their lives. Like none of them could get by without him, like he had room to talk when he called his son a worthless shit.

"That damn kid of yours broke the TV, you need to go out and get a new one because I'm sure as hell not doing it!" the man shouted. His voice was accusing, as if the woman also had something to do with the breaking of the television. Like the fact that John had come from her body, meant that everything he did wrong was equally her fault.

"What do you mean he broke the TV? _What _did you do to him Joseph?" the woman asked, concentrating more on the second question. It was true; she didn't want to be a mother. She never asked to get knocked up, and she sure as hell never asked to bring a baby into the shithole house her and Joe had owned together. At first she had tried being a decent mother to him. Someone needed to feed him and put him to sleep, but when he began learning how to heat up canned soup on his own, or run his own bath water, or even clean the house better than she could, all before he started school, there really was no point for her to stick around. She had done the part of her job that was required, and she didn't want the part that came, as she saw it, optional.

Kate never asked for John Bender to be born into the world, but that didn't mean she wanted to find him dead, all over some fucking TV that had lousy signal anyways. She hadn't even seen the boy around all morning, and lately, sleeping in wasn't an activity he partook in. He was up bright and early, every day, being an ass and making his comments. But not that morning.

"I dealt with that fucking retard destroying my TV the same way I got him to stay out of my fucking garage for two years." Joe said, actually _proud _that he was able to punish his son in ways that terrified him. After spilling a whole can of paint in the garage, John Bender never even looked at it again, let alone went inside of it. He had done that. He had made it so all his tools and paint were safe from the hands of his no good son.

"God dammit Joe! He's your _son_." Kate scolded, not that it really mattered. She was his wife. She was the mother of his child and the woman who stepped in and raised Nina. She had married him, taken vows, saying she loved him, and at one time, she really did. None of that stopped him from ever hitting her though, why should the fact that John was of his own_ blood _yield the fist he would deliver every night?

"Big fucking deal! I never asked to have a son Katherine! I told you to get the fucking abortion; you're the one who said everything would work out! Well it fucking worked out all right, we're in debt thanks to having to raise another fucking child, the kids a fucking asshole, and now my television is broken! Go fucking replace it!" Joe ordered, nearly waking John up with his raging voice. Clair was never so thankful for someone to be asleep; he didn't need to hear any of this.

"You know what? I'm gone, and this time for good." Kate shot back, slamming the door behind her loud enough to wake both John and Mark up. _Great, _thought Clair, _just one thing. You forgot your son. _

It only took moments after the slam of the door for Nina to burst in John's room, still in her pajama's, which to Clair and John's displeasure, was only an oversized tee shirt and her panties. Mark, on the other hand, suddenly had a very huge smile on his morning face.

"Kate's gone, and I think it's forever this time. Oh…my god…John! You two did the do with Mark in the room? Or was it a threesome? Jesus Christ John, this is _not _the kind of threesome that earns you street points!" Kate informed, stumbling backwards in shock. Her brother had finally lost his title as cherry, and there was another man included?

"We didn't do anything Nina, get out of my room." John warned. Of course, Nina just cocked an eyebrow, forcing John to have to throw a beer can at the door to get her to completely walk out of it and close it behind her. If she thought he suddenly wasn't pissed about what she had said to him, or what she had done with that dick Vernon, she was wrong. She was no longer a part of his life.

"Come one Cherry. I'll take you to the jock-strap next door and see if he'll drive you home. Give Bender a break; he's not a love machine." Mark suggested, earning himself a can to the head. Bender did, however, need to clean his still stinging wound before he'd even consider putting any kind of shirt over it. The last thing he needed was to rip it open when he got changed because he opted to put a clothe shirt over a still open wound.

"Go ahead Clair. I'll see you later. Oh, and don't go kissing any other guys. One guy one girl, right?" He asked, genuinely smiling instead of smirking for once. The world would be shocked when they discovered that John Bender had settled down with a girl, but Clair was worth it. She made him want to change. She made him want to be happy.

* * *

John sighed to himself as he aimlessly walked down the streets of his neighborhood. Not being high really fucking sucked, especially now. His mother had returned after his father left for the bar, only to take the few items she actually kept at the house and leave again. She hadn't said two words to John, who had sat still at the kitchen table, watching her with his mouth wide open, shocked that the woman who had given him a leather jacket was now just ignoring him and leaving without him.

Part of him had wanted to yell to her. If she wasn't going to invite him to come, he wanted to demand she take him. Demand she take him on her way to a new life, demand she take him out of that fucking house with all its fucking memories, and away from his fucking father so he could never hurt him again, and away from fucking Nina, so she could never speak to him again.

The more rational side, however, told him to keep his fucking mouth shut. Kate had no money. She wasn't as suave as Nina, she didn't have the know how of taking everything a guy had and leaving him before he left her. Kate was doomed to go with the first man who picked her up off the street, and if John was accompanying her, that day would never come. Nobody was going to accept a mother and her seventeen year old child into their house. A single woman, sure, but half a family? They'd be living in soup kitchens forever, and that wasn't the leap forward John wanted. At least with Joe, he had a roof. And two cigar burns, and multiple scars, a few bruises…

The wind hissed harder, causing John to pull his leather jacket tighter. He was fucking freezing, but in all honesty, he would rather be freezing in the winter than smoldering in the summer. His room got to temperatures in the hundreds in the summer. He had two choices during this time, walk around the streets with his layered shirts, at least one of them being long sleeved (to hide his scars of course), or be shirtless in his muggy oven of a room.

John kicked a beer can down the road, sending it flying. He'd known that the day when Katherine was gone for good would eventually come, and had spent hours thinking about who he would stay with in this case. He was so desperate for a happy solution, that he had even asked Clair, before he even knew her, which she would choose in her own life scenario. Of course, she had to pick her fucking brother. Like that helped.

"Hey John." Came a quiet voice from behind. Though it was soft, it had a certain confidence to it, which is why John had to actually turn around and face Allison to realize that it was her. He assumed she was on her way to visit Andrew, so he just waved and kept walking.

Allison, however, turned her direction and ran up to him. He let her follow a few steps before he asked what the hell she was doing. She had gained new clothes and a new found confidence, but she was still probably the weirdest person John had ever met. Just a somewhat more attractive, more confident weirdo.

"Just walking. Andrew's not home and Clair's doing homework. How bout we go get something to eat?" she asked, her voice more friendly and inviting than he remembered from their detention together. A new wardrobe was all it took to change Allison's whole life. Why couldn't it be that simple for John?

While John wasn't particularly fond of the idea of hanging out with someone who, personally, he thought was a nutcase, even with her transformation, he was fucking starving and wasn't about to pass up an excuse to go eat. Otherwise, he'd have a hard time spending money that he needed on a suit on something like French fries.

"Did you ever think about reporting your father to the police?" Allison asked when they were at the diner, surprising John with her bluntness. She definitely wasn't the type of person who liked small talk. If the discussion wasn't something that made her think, something she could analyze, then it was just an exchange of meaningless words.

"Wow Allison, that's a swell idea, I can't believe I never thought of that!" John said with sarcastic shock. It was beyond him why everyone he had spilled the beans to that Saturday felt the need to inform him about the police. Like they were some secret fucking organization that he had never even heard of. If it was as simple as calling the police, he would have done it years before.

"Did you know that my parents aren't my real parents," Allison asked, gaining John's attention, "they're foster parents. I used to live alone with my father, but when I turned thirteen, he started being attracted to me, and soon…" she trailed off, surprising Bender with her pleasure revealing all this to someone she barely knew.

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked, his face still in shock. Did she expect his pity? Did she expect him to be impressed? Like her early sexuality was something he'd be curious about, like it'd enrich his life to know his father wasn't the only fucked up dad in the world?

"I let him do it for a full year before I worked up the courage to talk to the cops. The same day I did was the last time I saw my father outside of a court. They immediately put me in the foster system. I got parents who don't pay attention to me, but that's my own luck, and it's sure better than what I went through with my own father." She explained, making it very obvious that she had _planned _to bump into John that night.

John assumed that Clair had to have told Allison about the happenings of the night before. Allison, having flashbacks of her own abusive childhood, couldn't take looking the other way when someone she knew, one of her first friends in a long time, even if they never hung out, went through something similar. She'd plan to go to his house and talk to him, give him options, and even if they couldn't find a way for John to escape the life he'd had since he'd been born, she at least wanted to be the example that other people had father's that were beyond what everyone else considered "normal unsatisfying", and had gotten out. During that year she had been with her father, she would have killed for someone to tell her that it was okay, that there was a way out, and she just had to work up the courage to find it. That she would only die before things got better if she let herself.

"That was stunning, really Allison, but it's not exactly the same predicament for me." John muttered, taking a drag of his cigarette while receiving glares from the table in front of them. John didn't have the luxury of going to the police and expecting them to help him that very day. In fact, all they'd do is do a full body search and throw him back on the streets, provided they didn't find anything illegal.

"You'll find a way out eventually. Pay attention to the world; nobody can stay on top forever. Not the good guys or the bad guys. Everyone has a downfall, whether it's a famous actor suddenly too old to be in demand, or a terrorist who's been caught. They all go down John. My father had his downfall, and yours will too. The higher on top they get themselves, the harder the falls going to be." Allison informed, giving a speech that John felt he'd truly only hear from someone as messed up as herself. Only Allison would think of the world as everyone ending up suffering, no matter how good life is going.

"Big deal." John muttered, though deep inside, he liked Allison's view. It was nice to think that his father was destined to eventually fail and be just as miserable as he had made everyone else. All John needed was for that day to come before he managed to kill his no good free loading son.

"It's a very big deal. It's important to remember because it only happens with participation. If you give up, you'll never get away. You'll die before the day. You have to stand up to your father and not let him take anything else from you. You're the new generation; you'll be here when he's gone, if you fight the fight right. You're hearts still living, he has no right to try to stop that just because his died a long time ago." Allison said, realizing at the very beginning of her speech that John wasn't even looking at her, and every once in a while making the "yeah fucking right" face, but continuing anyways.

"Do you realize your dad's probably somebody's bitch right now?" John asked, desperate to change the subject. He couldn't believe there was a happy ending to his life until it actually started happening. As long as his father was alive, it wasn't in reach, so why talk about it? They were just fantasies.

"Do you realize you let your dad make you his bitch every time you allow him to beat the shit out of you?" she asked, meaning to be funny, but taking it too far. She hadn't even realized what she said. She wasn't used to talking to people, and had no concept on what a touchy subject was.

John couldn't think of anything to say back. He just leaned forward and gave her the threatening glare he used to scare so many others. It didn't work on Allison though. She'd already fought her biggest life battle, and won. Then, she fought the second battle she faced, and was still enjoying the prize of that victory every time someone honked at her. There was nothing John could say or do that would intimidate her, and it pissed him off.

"It's true, isn't it? You just freeze up and let him do whatever he wants to you. He could slowly beat you for hours, finally giving the blow that kills you, and you'd let him. You'd just curl up in a ball and wait for it to be done, hoping it'll be done. You'd run and wait for him to catch you, hide and wait for him to find you," Allison said in an eerie voice, getting an intimidating distance to John's face.

"Shut your fucking mouth." John warned, glaring at Allison. It wasn't like he purposely allowed his father to take away all the courage, even the fake courage, he was able to display to anyone else. It just fucking happened, and he was ashamed by it like he was ashamed by all his scars.

"There's nothing you'd like more than to take that switchblade and stab him right in the heart, but even when it's right in your pocket, you won't use it," Allison continued, ignoring John's warning. She liked getting under his skin. He needed someone to get under his skin if he was ever going to stand up for himself.

"Shut the fuck up." John warned again, this time getting up and standing, leaning over the table so he could fully demonstrate his height advantage.

"Because in the end you're a coward. You're more scared of standing up for yourself and possibly losing than you are of voluntarily letting him beat," Allison said, being cut off by John throwing his fists on the table and yelling at her to shut up once more, this time screaming it.

The two glared at each other for another moment before John grabbed his stuff and stormed out of the diner. He didn't know what the fuck had gotten into Allison, whether it was sudden feelings for her father bubbling up and giving her extra misdirected rage, or whether she was just a lunatic who liked playing with people, but he was done. Anymore and he would have fucking killed her. Nothing she said was true. Maybe it was the way she had felt, maybe it had once been true for her, but it wasn't for him.

John wanted to fight back; he wanted to fight back oh so fucking badly. He wanted to take his switchblade and thrust it in his father's throat, but then what? Would the police believe he was just trying to save himself from another possibly fatal beating? That he couldn't turn to them, couldn't run, couldn't fight back any other way? He froze up because he didn't know what else to do, because nothing else would help him, not because he was too afraid to take a chance that could save his life.

Allison called out John's name from the door of the diner, but he had taken off too quickly. It would be impossible for her to catch him in the high heels Clair had given her. She hadn't meant to have him leave, have him walk out on the streets with all kinds of irrational thoughts. She had merely said what she had wanted to say to her childhood self for years. She'd said the thing that could have helped her had her present self been able to converse with her past self. She didn't mean to diagnose it as feelings that she felt John definitely displayed, she meant to display it as her own feelings at the time, and make the prediction that maybe, John felt the same way. Unfortunately, her message had gotten across to him the wrong way, and he was gone.

* * *

"Allison? What are you doing out in the rain? You're soaked!" Clair called out as she and Andrew passed her in his truck. When she hadn't showed up at Andrew's when they had planned, the two went out looking for her, only to find her walking up and down John's street, soaked to the bone with rain and the feelings of remorse.

"I fucked up. I fucked up bad and I got John into trouble. Now he's out there somewhere, pissed off and in the rain and with a switchblade, and he's probably going to get himself killed and it's all because of me." She rambled, watching as Clair and Andrew exchanged worried looks before telling her to get in the truck.

* * *

John Bender had been given many unlucky days, but this was definitely one of the honorable mentions of the year at least. In his blind fury, he had somehow managed to get himself lost. He'd been down the streets a thousand times, the houses he passed even looked familiar, but he couldn't for the life of him remember how he'd gotten from the point he was at back home all those other times. And it was raining.

As John slowly walked the streets, taking random guesses at every intersection, he saw the shadow images of what had to be seven men. If they were out in the rain, that told John they had business to take care of, business that he definitely wasn't about to bury his nose in. Not on that particular night.

He turned the other direction and prepared to take a chance down the way he'd come from, but stopped when the group called out to him, referring to him as a fucking worthless chicken shit. He slowly turned to face them, becoming still and piercing them with his eyes. Nobody called him out. Fucking _nobody_. He was John fucking Bender. He wasn't afraid of some stupid ass gang. He'd been jumped routinely since he was seven. He'd had ten years to perfect his street fighting routine.

He recognized most of the thugs as the ones who had jumped his friends and himself on the way to the bonfire a week before. So they wanted more? And this time they brought friends, and a knife of their own. It didn't fucking matter. It didn't matter how many buddies they brought; they could have a hundred on their side and it wouldn't matter. There as a key. All he had to do was get one of them. Just get his own switchblade against the throat of one of theirs, and they'd back out. He just had to watch his own throat in the process.

As the fight unraveled, John avoided punches, and ignored the ones he couldn't block. Things were going stunningly, until he heard a familiar voice call his name. Of course, he just had to fucking turn around and see who it was.

Andrew, Clair, and Allison had come to his rescue. But why? Why look for him in the rain, especially after he would have killed Allison in the diner, had he not held on to what little control he had?

On particularly unlucky nights, John felt that it was necessary to stay on ones feet at every moment, because on those types of nights, things always got worse. Unfortunately, when he had made this rule, he had not keyed in surprise visits from the three fourths of the breakfast club that didn't include himself, and as he starred in confusion at them, one of the bigger thugs took the handle of his knife and smashed it against John's skull, causing him to pass out on a very unlucky night.


	9. the shot

Disclaimer: I do not own the breakfast club

John had only been unconscious for ten minutes, which had been long enough for Andrew to fire off three loads from the shotgun he had purchased after the gang had attacked them the first time, and for Clair to use the phone of a nearby pizza shop to call her brother for assistance.

Clair's brother attended medical school. He liked to think that this made him a doctor in practice, because he figured that there were older doctors that had learned medicine years ago, and in that time it had been innovated. Therefore, he felt that he already knew more than most of the doctors in the world with just three years of medical school. When Tim Standish explained this to John, using it as an example as to why he shouldn't worry about being in his capable hands, John only had one thought; this guy is a fucking idiot.

Luckily for John, his injuries included only of a mild concussion, which Mark would be liable to diagnose and treat. Under the influence. While John made certain intentions not to get concussions, since they were fucking pains to have to deal with, they weren't anything to make a big deal about. It was better than his skull being broken.

"I'm going to suggest you not sleep or consume alcohol for at least three hours, and prevent further head injuries and sports for at least a week," Tim prescribed, nearly making John lose it at the thought of being mistaken for someone who did sports, "Clair, do Mom and Dad know where you are? Come on. I'm taking you home." Tim demanded as he pulled himself to his feet, not being particularly fond of their surroundings. He had ignored the fact that Clair had asked him to help a juvie, due to the unprejudiced policies of his practice, but he couldn't look past the thought of his baby sister being in the ghetto where a fight had been unleashed.

"I didn't ask for your help." John said once Tim's car pulled out of sight, carrying the prestigious Clair with it. He felt it necessary to remind Andrew that he was not a hero, just incase he was planning his citizen award acceptance speech. He had stuck his nose where it wasn't wanted, that didn't mean John owed him a thank you or even a decent demeanor towards him. In fact, he wouldn't have even gotten a fucking concussion had he not found it necessary to call out to him when he was clearly in the middle of something that he didn't wish to be bothered from.

"Don't be like that. You're just pissed because you couldn't handle it on your own." Allison remarked, surprising John by her ability to challenge his frustration so soon after she nearly tasted his switchblade down her throat. Allison definitely had balls under that new cashmere skirt of hers, and if she didn't watch it, John was going to cut them off.

"God you're so fucking right, what would I have done if Hulk fucking Holgan over here had never moved to my ghetto?" He asked, actually causing Andrew to lift an eyebrow out of surprise for John's knowledge of the new wrestling champion on the block. The shock alone made Andrew completely impervious to John's insult.

"You would have ended up dead in this case, that's for sure!" Allison shot back, again displaying courage that seemed to have reared its ugly head out of nowhere. When had fucking Wednesday Adams gained more balls than a female angler fish?

"Yeah well I don't remember fucking asking your opinion." John said, losing interest in Allison's hairy nuts upon realization that he had a fucking monster sized headache. Fuck staying up for three hours; he was taking a handful of aspirin and passing out as soon as he got home.

"Oh sure, just walk away. You know, just because you're pissed at me doesn't mean you have to be an ass to everyone else! You're shit. Andrew never did anything to you, I'm the one you're pissed at, so if you're going to take it out on anyone, take it out on me." Allison demanded, instantly feeling remorse for her invitation once John darted back towards her, grabbing her by the wrist and holding her in place as he inched his face less than a centimeter from hers, giving her his most intimidating glare.

"Let her go!" Andrew shouted, starting forwards but stopping in his tracks when he heard the familiar snap of a switchblade. It wasn't the most macho thing he could have done in the situation, but in all honesty, he was still just as scared of Bender as he was the first time he pulled out his pocket knife, despite all they'd been through. Maybe more. This wasn't just some fucking moron out to piss the world off, this was an unstable boy who could not be taken for predictable.

"Save me psycho babble bullshit, okay? You think you get to play fucking psychiatrist now that Clair remade you? Guess what sweets, you're just as fucked up as you've ever been, alright, so why don't you diagnose yourself and stay out of my life?" He asked, releasing his grip and walking away for a second time.

As a child, John had longed to tell someone about what he was going through. He was alone, he had nobody to help him get out, nobody to be there for him, and he didn't know if he could do it on his own. But he was older now. He _had _done it on his own. He'd proven to himself that he didn't require assistance, so why had everyone decided that _now _was a good time to try to understand what his life was like? They didn't, they couldn't. Until they could, they had no right trying to get inside his head and spit out bullshit about how he was scared, or determine that he couldn't take on a couple stupid ass thugs without their assistance.

"I'm sorry," Allison called, choking out tears and stopping John in his tracks, "I didn't mean for any of that to piss you off. But talking to you about your situation made me think about what it was like for me, and all my old feelings just came up. I was talking to myself, but I was speaking to you, and I'm sorry! You're right, I am fucked up, but it'd be fucked up for you to stop talking to all of us because of what I said." She blurted, taking notice of the nausea that was washing over her. She couldn't tell whether it was from all the forgotten feelings of her father, or everything that was going so well, falling apart because of a stupid conversation in the diner.

Bender remained still. She'd told him that he was a coward. She had accused him of being able to take on his father, the one thing that took away any chance of him ever having a real life, but choosing not to. Choosing to allow daily beatings, because he was too much of a chicken-shit to do anything about it, and on the theory that this is how she had felt as a fourteen year old girl. But could he blame her? Hadn't he called the whole bunch of them fucking dildos, for doubting his reenactment of a family evening was nothing more than an act? Hadn't he completely lost control, in the blink of an eye, throwing books everywhere and pulling himself like fucking Godzilla on the staircase? She had been betrayed by someone who was supposed to love her and had been sent over the edge, just like he had. He couldn't pretend like he didn't synthesize with her outburst, even if it had severely pissed him off.

"Are you two just gonna stand there all night or are you going to take me home? I have a fucking concussion thanks to you, remember?" John asked, rolling his eyes as large smiles simultaneously found their way on both Andrew and Allison's faces. It was evident that he was did not require a chauffer to assure that he made it to his establishments. His rude request for their company on his way was the closest he was going to get to saying "I forgive you".

* * *

The drive to dropping Allison off had been completely silent. She had sat in the passenger seat, and John had made himself a bed lying across the connected back seats. He was completely drained, again, and he couldn't make out whether it was from his concussion or the eventful day he had experienced.

"Hey, you're not sleeping back there are you? Clair's brother said you're supposed to stay away for at least three hours." He reminded on the way back to their street. The last thing he needed was for John Bender to slip into a coma in the back of his dad's van. John potentially being a potato for the rest of his life aside, Andrew's father would completely reign him there was some unconscious thug in the backseat of his van when he left for work the next morning.

"Yeah, well Clair's brother also advised me not to drink in that time, but that's not going to stop me from swallowing a whole six pack when I get home." John stated, his voice lacking its usual emotion. The concussion had left him slightly disoriented, and John found it difficult to concentrate on everything that was happening at once, including the energy level he put in his side of the conversation.

"Maybe you should just spend the night at my house. My parents are asleep by now anyways. You should have someone there with you until your symptoms pass. I've gotten a few concussions on the matt myself." Andrew offered, but both he and John knew what he really meant to say. He didn't want to chance Bender going home and running into his sunshine of a father with a freshly cracked open skull. John didn't need any more brain damage than he already had through his own stupidity.

"If my memory serves me well, my head wasn't between some guys thighs when this slip up happened, Sporto." John dryly stated. He wasn't exactly thrilled to have a little sleep over with someone like Andrew Clark, especially when he figured it would just be a series of him being reminded of a long list of things he couldn't do because he had a concussion. Like this was really the first time a blunt object had come crashing down on his head, and he wasn't sure of the safety precautions that came with having a head injury.

"It's the same protocol no matter how you end up with one, John. Quit being impossible." Andrew asked, looking at John's reaction through the review mirror. John had to have realized that if things got any worse, he was fucked. He couldn't go to the hospital due to lack of funds and the possibility abuse being brought up, and he didn't have a phone to call Clair for more assistance from her brother. That was if he was even conscious. Andrew was offering him a solution, and he was going to decline?

"Look, Sporto, this may be hard to believe, what with my exceptional personal life, but this isn't exactly my first concussion." John said, reminiscing on concussions of the past. Dear old Joe Bender loved taking any thing hard and close at hand to smack over his son's head almost as much as he loved jacking off.

Andrew decided to leave it at that. John had somehow survived seventeen years of his fathers abuse, in that time having had many head injuries, and he'd done it all by himself. He might have looked like an idiot, and he sure acted like one, but he had to have been at least smart enough to come up with some kind of tactic for occurrences when he had to be extra cautious of that stoned out brain of his. If he wanted to exercise these practices instead of going with an option that had no risks attached, Andrew couldn't stop him.

"At least let me walk you to your door." He reasoned, hoping John would let him do the right thing. Even before Andrew went through his personal life changes, he thought about others much more than the normal jock. The normal jock would not have felt bad about taping Larry Lester's butt together. The normal jock would have probably loved Bender's little flip out in the library. The normal jock wouldn't have cared that Allison made claims of wanting to run away.

"You're pretty charming Sporto." John muttered, but left it at that. He wasn't about to argue something as trivial as a two foot walk to his door. While it was demeaning for someone to think that he, John Bender, required a buddy system for getting from his driveway to his front door, he was too out of it to really care what the jock did.

"Obviously that blow to your head missed whatever region controls your ability to be an asshole." Andrew joked, smiling as he watched John do an overdramatic presentation of pretending to be hurt by what Andy had said. Even though John drove him crazy sometimes, he had to admit, the boy was funny.

"What, no kiss goodbye?" John mocked when the two reached his front door. As Andrew rolled his eyes in dismay, John turned the handle to find the door had been locked. John swore under his breath; of course Joe Bender had picked this night to remember to lock the god damned door. Normally, when this happened, John would just sneak through his window, but all the windows in the house squeaked worse than mice and eight times out of ten he'd receive some kind of punishment for coming home late and waking his father up. He couldn't risk that with a head injury.

"How about that sleepover then?" Andrew asked, the slightest sting of ass in his voice. John was starting to rub off on him.

* * *

Andrew had laid out a sleeping bag and some pillows for John to use on the floor. The two watched movies for four and a half hours, none that particularly interested John, until he had completely passed out, his hand lightly clutching his switchblade and the edge of the sleeping bag slightly rubbing against one of his earrings with every breath.

A month ago, Andrew Clark would not be able to fathom having the school's criminal sleeping in his room, right next to his bed, equipped with a weapon that he was accustomed to using. That said, a month ago he also never found himself living in the ghetto or ever getting a detention for making someone's life miserable.

Andrew clicked off the TV and slowly drifted to sleep, only to be woken up but what seemed like minutes later to find John riffling through his bedside table. He paid no mind to the now fully awake jock, starring curiously at him but not being able to fabricate a remark to his weird behavior.

"What are you doing?" Andrew asked, learning forward slightly to get a better view. Upon hearing Andy's voice, John pulled the shotgun used to save his life earlier, and pointed it at Andrew's head, firing a round that cracked louder than a cannon.

* * *

**a.n. sooooo if you haven't read the authors note at the end of chapter one, I no longer write fanfics, but on numerous requests have decided to finish this one, because I feel it would be unfair to all reviewers who I truly appreciate to have wasted their time on a story that was going nowhere. However, when I went back to see where I had left off, what I read almost made my eyes bleed. I rewrote the whole thing, changing a few scenes that didn't fit John's character. chapters 1-2 were updated a few months ago, 3-5 about three days ago, and the rest were updated in between now and that time. I tried keeping the ending of chapter eight the same so it would flow into the new chapter, but everything else was changed because it was out of character for everyone. **

**FUN FACT: the male angler fish is small, feeds on scum, and does not have a hook. the one from Finding Nemo is a female. The female absorbs the male through her own body, and keeps his testicles on the outside of her body until she is ready to reproduce. the female angler fish can have several pairs of balls on the outside of her body (which is what John means when he says Allison has more balls than a female angler fish), sex is never an option in the males life. his organs are, however, digested and used to nourish the female. if i were an animal, i would want to be an angler fish. eat that boys.  
**

**Helinahandcart: LoL actually, it was really bad, but thank you so much for the positive support anyways! and yeah, i was pretty awful at grammer...like...really.**

**anonimoose: cute name, and yes...just a little late lol. thanks for the review**

**katie7682: thanks for the review katie!**

**sunshinedaydream42: your name makes me happy. thanks for the review!**

**philipa aleshre: Brian will either be presented in the next chapter or the chapter following. thanks for your review!**

**sadie lovegood: if i haven't already read your fanfic, i will most certainly do that when i have the time. unfortunately that is not now, as i have to babysit in literally ten minutes, but i will. thanks for the review!**

**kardio: edit done. thanks for the review!**

**johnsclair: thanks for the review! i take it you're a johnXclair fan lol**

**scarecrow 211: sorry! thanks for the review!**

**MagnusSpark: you are the one who convinced me to continue this. unfortunately, it got sent to an email i didn't check until this year. thank you for convincing me and thank you for the review!**

**moflo 19: haha your name is so cute! magic update successful. thanks for your review!**

**quibble: ...sorry i completely rewrote what you found to be the best chapter...i got your review after i entered it and i hadn't had the orriginal saved. But i hope you enjoy the revised version and i appreciate your review, thank you!  
**


	10. the job

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in The Breakfast Club

Andrew Clark shot up in his bed, sweat pouring from his hairline and his chest heaving rhythmatically with shallow breaths. He immediately threw his hands to his forehead, anticipating a gunshot wound but instead only coming to contact with his sweat soaked skin.

His eyes darted to the floor on the side of his bed, where he found John Bender, still with his hand softly clutching his switchblade; still with the edge of the sleeping bag rubbing against his earring. He hadn't stirred the slightest; even though Andrew was sure he had made some sort of loud gasp when he woke up.

Andrew fell backwards on his bed. Why the hell was he having nightmares about John? True, he found him to be unpredictable, but that's not to say he would ever point a shotgun to his head for no reason at all. He'd gotten to know him for the past couple weeks, he'd voluntarily hung out with him, but he had to face it; he was still frightened of John.

His fear had started off as being nothing more than intimidation. From the moment he walked into the library, Andrew had known that he was prepared to cause trouble. He, of course, would never show the school criminal that he had any effect on him. He'd almost gained his edge over John when he tackled him to the ground, but he'd managed gaining all that back and more when he first saw the switchblade, the one John claimed he could have easily used if he wasn't afraid of the fucking lawsuits.

John's hand twitched on the switchblade, causing Andrew to jump back up. As he starred at him more, he noticed something that he had mistaken as being nothing more than shadow before. On John's right shoulder was a burn, exactly the same size and shape as the one on his arm, only still blistered and sore.

John had received punishments unimaginable to Andrew for most his life. It wasn't just the fact that it physically stung to get kicked, hit, and burned, but it was who was doing it. Andrew felt sick to his stomach whenever his dad made him feel like he wasn't good enough. He'd punched walls, he'd lashed out at people he cared for, he taped a kid's ass cheeks together…but even then, at least his father never laid a finger on him. Never did anything that truly said "I don't give a shit about you".

Realizing this, John didn't seem so unpredictable. He did what he could to survive. If he felt threatened by something, he pulled out that little switchblade of his and waved it around as if he'd used it all the time, but really, Andrew had never seen it draw anymore than a drop of blood. The world was a dangerous place in John's eyes; anyone could turn around and bring you to the ground. He needed to act just as dangerous. It was something he'd learned when he was very little, and something that came second nature to him now. He played it off like he had no trouble killing anyone; but really, he'd never attack anyone who hadn't attacked him first. Even the little smack he'd given Andrew in the library was considerably nothing, putting all the gang fights he'd probably been in throughout the years into thought.

John Bender wasn't dangerous. He was an ass, an alcoholic, and quite possibly an idiot, but he was nothing that Andrew needed to have nightmares about. In fact, the amount of trust that he had in Andrew showed him that they were possibly even becoming close friends. Through the first couple of days after Andrew had moved in, he'd see the occasional scumbag drop by and watch as Bender took off with him, but besides Mark, he didn't seem to have any connections that he truly trusted as much as Andrew now.

Andrew finally shut his eyes and laid back down. It was stupid to be afraid of someone like John Bender. He wasn't some random thug off the street; he was a friend.

* * *

John left the next morning before Andrew or his parents woke up. He knew what kind of people the Clarks were. It didn't matter that they now resided in the same neighborhood as him, he was still scum. He'd grown up there; they were stuck there temporarily until Andrew's father could climb back up the corporate ladder. He got enough dirty glares from adults outside his neighborhood; he didn't need them from his new neighbors too, as they dropped not so subtle hints that they didn't want him around their son.

"Hey Kosher-dick!" John heard not even ten minutes after making it into his own room. He rolled his eyes, what the hell was Mark doing at his window at six in the morning? The only excuse the kid would have for not sleeping in until two in the afternoon would be if he had work, which he obviously didn't or he wouldn't have been pleasing John with his unwanted presence.

"You know, you're pretty sexy in that uniform." Bender said with a growl as he threw his window open, finding Mark in his mechanics outfit. It was a once vibrant, now dingy blue jumpsuit that he unbuttoned half way to show a tight wife-beater's shirt. He had gelled back hair and dirt on his face. For reasons beyond John, this drove the ghetto whores crazy. They liked that it made him look "rigid". If rigid meant covered in car oil and dust.

"Could you forget that you're a fucking queer for two minutes? I gotta tell you somethin' important. Larse quit today." Mark informed, as if what he said was supposed to have significance. That settled it. Mark was high. The ass had probably gotten high on his way to work and ended up at the Bender residence instead.

"I'm thrilled for Larse. Go to work wastoid." Bender ordered as he started to close his window again, but Mark threw his hands down on the windowsill to stop him. This normally would have annoyed John, but as he had gotten to make it through a whole night without any loud crashes or yelling disturbing him from sleep, so he was slightly less cranky than normal.

"You fucking dumbass! Larse didn't even give any heads up that he was leaving; my boss is _desperate _for a new shop hand! I told him that me and you had auto-shop together and how skilled you were and he told me to get you right then! You want a job or not Jew-boy?" Mark asked, almost losing it at John's expression. He had never seen his best friend ever confused and astounded over something that was actually _good. _Bender couldn't believe it. Andrew had told him that things had to get worse before they could get better, but _damn_. If a concussion was as bad as it was going to get, John would have made the personal choice to change his life and then split his head open _years _ago.

Mark's boss was a short old man with a red face and an accent from New Jersey. He had one goal in life; to make a shitload of money. He didn't care what kind of pothead piss-poor people he hired, as long as they could put together a car by the deadline. This was especially lucky for John, because he was exactly the piss-poor pothead type of person that was excellent at putting cars together.

After, of course, proving his skills to the short little red-man, John was given a uniform and told to be at work the next day at seven AM. In less than an hour's time, he had gone from a jobless free loading son of a bitch to working class, with all the hope in the world of moving out of the Godforsaken ghetto. Of course, he'd never have the nice establishments that Clair or maybe even Brian were accustomed to, but he figured an apartment in a nice neighborhood, one that didn't have prostitutes around every corner and seven year olds doing smack, would be a nice change of atmosphere. Vernon was wrong; John's future was promising.

* * *

With a smile that he couldn't seem to get rid of, John had walked down the streets of the richer neighborhood, hoping to possibly bump into Clair. He didn't know why he was so enthusiastic to tell her about his news, to watch as her pale face lit up as she showed pride in him, the school criminal, the scum beneath her pumps. It was like she had fucking beer flavored tits or something. She'd gained special attention from him not even five minutes after he entered the library that day in detention, surprised to see such a pristine richie in Saturday detention. She was two worlds put together. She wasn't ghetto scum, but she didn't have a stick up her ass either.

Instead of Clair's BMW pulling up beside him, it had Andrew's van. The smile did not fade from John's face, despite the fact Andy seemed to be attached to his left nut lately. He had a job. He was getting out of the piece of shit ghetto. He had goals, and he had plans to reach those goals for once in his life, and he was going to get to rub it all in Andrew's face for him ever saying that he didn't even count.

Apparently, the group had been out looking for him. One of Allison's pen works had made it into an art show and won first place, earning her a ribbon and a scholarship. To celebrate, the four members of the breakfast club had gone back to Allison's house for pizza and beer.

To everyone's surprise, Allison's house was the equivalent in size to Clair's. Her foster parents were workaholics who were never around, which meant instead of parents, Allison had a well paid for house and maid service. Unfortunately, the hired help did not speak English, so she had grown up alone for all her post-child service action years.

The group sat in Allison's newly refurbished room. Upon her request, her foster parents had purchased all new furniture to replace her black and depressing room décor. She found it quite humorous that before she made her transformation, they spent thousands of dollars on therapists to get her to be normal. Now that she was normal, they spent double that on sessions, thinking her drastic change was a plea for help or something. She was now going to a therapist not because she acted weird, but because she acted normal. It was a strange transaction.

"You're not going to have anymore beer John?" Allison asked, surprised that the alcoholic of the group had not used the celebration as an excuse to get hammered. In fact, Clair was tipsier than he was, yet it didn't seem like anything was bothering him. Was he trying to give up alcohol like he gave up weed? Such an event would be newsworthy.

"No. I gotta be up early for work tomorrow." John informed, not being able to hide his smile or even ruin such an amazing statement that he would never be able to slip out of his lips without sarcasm or the slightest joke added. He, John Bender, had somewhere important to go in the morning. Not like school, the pointless facility he went to even though he was more educated than most the teachers, and yet would never pass due to his high amount of sick days. No, he was going somewhere that would actually build a future for himself.

"Since when do you work?" Andrew asked, unable to decipher whether John's answer had merely been a sarcastic remark, or if he had some job that none of them knew about. It would certainly explain why he seemed to never be home, although, getting hammered and being stupid with friends also explained why he was never home.

"Since this morning. Mark got me a job at the shop. Why, you gonna start stalking me there too?" John joked, not being able to pull the smile off his face. He was the only one in the room with a job now. Before, he was the scum of the group. He was the one who wasn't afraid to walk to that fucking party, and the one who needed members of the group to pick him up when he was on a hungover midnight walk, or scare off some thugs who'd jumped him. He was the bad one of the group, but now, he had a job. He was just as good as they were.

"Congratulations John! I'm really happy for you." Clair applauded, smiling a genuinely proud smile at him. He wasn't the same boy who had walked into that detention room that day. In a few short weeks, he'd turned his life around. He'd always had potential to be a great person, but it took real friends to make him set goals that would help him become just that. Clair liked knowing that Allison, Andrew, and herself were just the friends he needed. In fact, each of the friends had grown in the short weeks, all thanks to each other. That detention was an accident that changed their lives forever.

Only good things had come from detention, something given to the kids as punishment for the way they had acted before. Clair had stood up to her friends. She had told them that she was going to like who she wanted to like, and made it clear that they weren't going to pressure her anymore. She hated almost nothing more, with the exception of her parents, than having to go along with what her friends thought, and she was free from that, her status as hands down junior prom queen untouched. Andrew had come to grips that his father was never going to be completely satisfied in him unless he became a mirror image of the high school student his old man was as a teenager, and that wasn't him. He was happy now without the stress of his father breathing down his neck, and hiding in the shadows in the back of his head, and had made life changes that had made him happy. Allison, of course, had completely revamped her life. She went from ash child that everyone ignored, to someone who just kept winning. She was slowly gaining attention from her parents, who were curious of her new strange-normal behavior, and had won a scholarship. Someone had paid attention to her art, and _liked _it. She was now friends with the most popular girl in school, the youngest varsity letterman on multiple teams, and the notorious school criminal. These people who _everyone _knew, was friends with the girl who was invisible.

"Alley," Allison's foster mom called as she entered the room, surprising everyone including Allison herself, who had never received recognition from her parents, "there's someone in the living room who wants to see you. I really think you should go…" she trailed off, the slightest bit of nerves in her voice. Was it social services? There to take her to yet another family? Or her psychologist, there to say that she really was insane and ready to haul her off to the asylum?

Curiously, all four of the teenagers exchanged looks and got up from their spots, not even bothering to cover the beer up to prevent any adults from seeing, and made their way to Allison's large living room to find a spindly young woman, nowhere older than her late thirties. She had long, curly brown hair that fell to the top of her bohemian skirt. Most interesting, she had the same high, defined cheekbones and the same eye structure as Allison. This woman was Allison's real mother.

"What do _you _want?" Allison asked coldly, not showing any emotion other than annoyance for the woman she had not seen in years. It was amazing that she was even able to recognize her, what with all her suppressed memories of her childhood and just the fact that she was so young when she had left all together. Not that any of it mattered. She had made the choice to leave Allison's life. Once that choice was made, she had no option of going back. As soon as the door closed behind her, she was a censored out blip in Allison's memory.

"I came to take you home silly," the woman said in a soft voice. It was naturally quiet and filled with certain sweetness. Since Allison was little, everyone had always said that she had her father's strong voice. His strong voice, his artistic talent, his weirdness, his stubbornness…the fact that she physically took after her mother in such a strong way made her almost as sick as taking after her father in every other way.

Not knowing what else to do, Allison took off to her room, followed by three very concerned friends. She'd be damned if that woman was taking her anywhere. She _was _home. She was ignored everyday, when her parents were even home, and she had to put up with therapy as long as she was a minor and her foster parents had control over her, but it was home nonetheless. This was Allison's new home life, and while aspects of it had once made her consider running away, it was better than what could be her real home. It was better than getting all buddy-buddy with the woman who had left her with _him, _it was better than reinforcing her mother's strange thought that she could just walk in and out of Allison's life.

"What the fuck was that?" John asked after they all made it back to Allison's room, a curious ting in his voice. She ignored him. Instead of answering she locked her door and frantically searched around her room. There was no way her mother was taking her anywhere. She'd left her. She'd left her with that _man _to pursue some stupid modeling fantasy. She'd given up her daughter, she couldn't have her back.

"Allison! What the hell's gotten into you?" Andrew asked, trying to hold her down, but he was pushed away as if he were just any random in the life of Allison Reynolds. She quickly grabbed a wooden rocking chair and put it under the doorknob to assure that even if it were somehow unlocked, it could not be opened. She then threw herself down in front of chair, covered her ears, and threw her head down.

The other three exchanged wide eyed, worried glances. This was the weirdest thing they'd seen Allison do, and they'd seen her do a large variety of perturbing activities. She had changed a lot and she had grown to let her intelligent side out to the world, but she couldn't hide her weird side. Her father had stolen her normal long ago.

Clair, after looking to John for reinforcement which he donated only in a similar look, slowly approached Allison, bending down next to her and cautiously placing her hand on her shoulder. Losing it, Allison pushed Clair backwards, glaring at her with heavy breaths as the princess fell on her back.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Allison shouted before throwing her hands back over her ears. She'd completely lost it.

* * *

**a/n: very boring chapter, I apologize. trying to get the story going again...**


	11. the kiss

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of The Breakfast Club

"Go ahead. Laugh at me." Allison said after all but one of her friends had left. Her breakdown had ended and after sitting in silence for almost an hour, Clair stated that her parents were going to be mad if she out too late. Or at least one of them would be. The other one would say that she was just being a teenager, just to smite whichever parent decided to be the strict one of the day.

Andrew, of course, had to drive Clair home. Though she was old enough to have a license, and certainly had the parents who would supply her with a car, her mother demanded that she worked to earn the money and the privilege of being able to drive, while her father insisted that it was a common right for a teenager to be able to operate a vehicle. The fight that broke out every time her license was mentioned was simply unbearable, so she decided to live as a non-driver until she was eighteen.

John, on the other hand, had no reason to leave. After all, the sooner he got to his own home, the sooner the chance of his still freshly cracked skull coming into high impact with one of the numerous blunt objects in his house. Staying to comfort Allison was a much better option. Even if she was fucking nuts.

"Am I laughing?" he asked, his head against the door and his eyes closed. He slowly rotated his head to get a look at Allison, who was in shock. Like it was so unbelievable to conceive the thought that John Bender could take a delicate situation seriously. Granted he was an ass most of his life, he also had a few delicate situations of his own. He understood.

"I don't get you. You're so weird." Allison said, making John laugh. Allison didn't find it funny. He made fun of anyone any opportunity he got. It was like his life's mission to piss off mass amounts of people at a time, and she had just had the mother of all breakdowns. She'd ran out of the room like a madwoman. She'd locked her door and then threw a chair in front of it as if there were some axe murderer on the other side. She pushed his girlfriend, or whatever Clair currently was to him. At that moment, there were over seventy one liners he could throw. Probably more.

"Oh I'm weird? Did your shrink tell you that?" He asked upon noting the cocked eyebrow Allison had thrown at him. He was right. She was weird. Her current display of insanity had proved that, but he was weird for not making fun of her for being even weirder, like he was expected to do. They sat in silence for another fifteen minutes.

"So what'd she do to you?" John asked, surprising Allison by his bizarre behavior once again. He had remained uninterested when she had told her about her father, who had done the most inappropriate act a parent could do to a child, yet he was actually initiating conversation about her mother, who looked as innocent as fucking Mother Teresa.

"She didn't do anything, Bender." She said, suddenly putting up a front. For whatever reason John was suddenly so curious about her maternal life, it annoyed her. She had the tendency to bring things that she didn't want to talk about with people up, and then she'd be stuck with their damn curiosity. She blamed her shrink for that. He was always forcing her to open up, now she couldn't keep things closed.

"Now, she had to have done something," Bender insisted, matter of factly. He raised his eyebrows, challenging her to tell him the truth with his eyes. He was so damn good at it that it killed Allison. With one look, John could make a million thoughts run through someone's mind. For a wastoid, he was incredibly good at manipulation, among a large variety of other abilities.

"She left me," Allison answered, prepared to leave it at that, but John's eyes didn't leave her, "when I was nine. She just left. She said she wanted to be a model. You can't be a model with kids. She just erased me from her life like an unwanted pencil mark, and if she hadn't, maybe my dad would have left me alone…" Allison trailed off before looking to the ground, "maybe we'd still be a family."

There was another moment of silence. _Good, _Allison thought, _you got what you wanted, now shut up. _She considered telling him to leave. She'd told him too much. Just a couple days ago, she was talking to him like she was all over this family shit, like she knew the hurdle he was going through, and was so much wiser because she had already made it through, but she hadn't completely finished the marathon. And now he knew that.

"What makes you think her staying would have stopped the deterioration of your family?" He asked, not bothering to look her in the eyes. By this point, his head was back against the door and his eyes were closed shut. When he was younger, every time his mother up and left he'd blame her for everything. He'd think, maybe if she was a better wife, his father wouldn't be so pissed all the time. He was a fucking idiot when he was younger.

"Have you seen my mother? She's gorgeous. She'd probably be model right now, except she's too old. If my father had her around, he wouldn't have needed anyone else. He never would have stopped being my father, and I never would have lost my mother. It'd be a family." She answered, looking at him for any kind of facial expression to show he understood, to show that she was right. His face remained unchanged, and it drove her mad.

John, of course, realized this. He didn't even have to look at her to know she was going insane with his silence and sudden lack of interest in her family life. He was able to predict what she was feeling and when since that detention. Many people didn't realize this, but John Bender did listen to people. He listened and observed, and he used both actions when it came time to get under their skin. He did this all too naturally.

But Allison was more than some victim of his antics. She pissed him off to no end, when, of course, he wasn't perturbed by her. Her life hit too close to home for him. An asshole father who did un-fatherly things to break her down, and a mother who wanted no part of raising a child, and played mind games by leaving and then coming back, as if nothing had changed. And she realized they had similar lives, and in her own psychotic way, haunted John with it. That day at the diner, when she expressed her feelings through trying to diagnose his life, he could have strangled her. But Allison was more than a victim to him, she was a friend. She pissed him off, but at the end of the day, she cared.

"Well, I really hate to break it to you sweets, but your old man wouldn't have been father of the year just because he had some bitch around." John explained, sharing with her the knowledge he had gained long ago. All he had to do was look into his dad's uncaring eyes; _really _look, when he was kicking his only son in the ribs, before it clicked. His father didn't give a shit if he hurt him. Joe Bender had lost the ability to think of John as his son, if he ever even had such a trait, long ago, and nothing that John or anyone else did would ever make him come back to realization that John was his own flesh and blood; a product of himself. Just like Mr. Reynolds would never see Allison as his spawn, no matter what she or her mother did.

In exchange for his cold but truthful words, Allison gave him a big doe eyed stare. It was one part angry, one part upset, and one part confused. How could he tell her what her father would do in which predicaments? He didn't know him. She did. She knew him _too _well. How could he so confidently tell her that in case of her mother's presence, her life wouldn't have been happy?

John rolled his eyes. Did he really have to give the school basketcase some huge speech on bad parents? On how some people just had rotten folks, and nothing would change that? How the world was an unfair place, and while some people got parents who worshiped the ground their children walked on, other's used their kids as nothing more than objects to make them feel better?

"Look, Allison, your old man's a dick. He could have had a million bitches in his life, and that wouldn't have kept him away from you. Assholes don't become fucked up over night, they're born that way. Have you ever seen my basement? We have to have about four punching bags and a brick wall that could take any form of abuse and be left practically fucking untouched, yet my old man chooses my face as a stress suppressor, and my mom's been around just as many times as she's been gone. No bitch would have given you a happy family, everything that happened was bound to happen since you were born." He explained, not bothering to look at her once through his whole speech. It wasn't often that John brought up his own shitty life as an example to someone else's problems. Taking something so seriously was uncomfortable for him.

"Do you forgive her? Your mom, when she comes back? Do you just pretend she never left until she does it again, or do you hate her?" Allison asked, leaning closer to John so she wouldn't miss a word of his answer. She _needed _to know how he handled it. How a normal person acted when they wanted to hate their mother, when they should, when their mother just left them like it was no big deal, but couldn't.

"No, Allison," John said with a sigh, becoming annoyed with the conversation, "I don't hate her, just like you don't hate yours. Are you going to tell me, that even though she came back, meaning you actually crossed her mind, even though she actually _wants _you to be in her life right now, you're not going to go? As long as that bitch keeps coming back, I'm not going to hate her, just like you're not going to hate yours, so stop wasting her time before she changes her mind and leaves. Unless, you _want _to stay with your asshole foster parents." John added, looking at her with his challenging eyes.

"Thanks John." Allison said, a smile on her ashen, rosy face. She still had a few more hurdles to leap before she had left her old problems behind, but with a friend leaping the hurdles next to her, the marathon didn't seem so long.

* * *

John had skipped school that morning to go to work. His little redman-boss didn't care about any laws concerning minors in the workplace, just that the cars were finished on time, and this was just fine with John. After all, it opened the door for more hours, and he needed work more than he needed school. School wasn't going to pay for his ticket out of the Bender hellhole.

John wasn't, however, against going in after school hours to make up for the shop class he'd missed to finish his project. Shop was, after all, the only class he could skip almost every day of and still get a near perfect score, and working on a project as apposed to heading home wasn't exactly a huge trade off.

He was surprised, and yet, not so surprised, to see Brian in the shop room, doing yet another extra credit project in hopes of bringing up his F. His shit ass shelf must have been too unstable to earn him much of anything. This time he worked on a clock, something that if done right, would be complex enough to bring his F up to a low C. He figured if he took a deep breath, and carefully measured everything and scanned every inch of the directions, he would undoubtedly succeed.

John tried his best to ignore the dweeb. He'd opened up and allowed three new people into his life; that was enough. He didn't need anyone else, and he definitely didn't need someone like Brian. The kid had almost fucking killed himself over a fucking bad grade. He could easily deal with everyone else's home drama, but Brian's case was asking too much. He was just too unstable, and John had no intentions of inviting that into his life, especially when he had never meant to invite any of the others. They had just happened to find their way.

"Fuck!" Brian shouted, full frustration exploding in his voice, as he threw the beginnings of a failed extra credit project to the ground. It was already uneven. How the fuck could that have happened? He measured everything _three fucking times, _and now he was running out of time. His shop instructor wasn't going to keep throwing projects at him. He had to beg for days just to get the clock project, and somehow, he had already fucked it up.

"See, I always thought the key to shop success was to trash your assignment, but I'd never actually seen anyone do it," John sarcastically noted, breaking his rule of ignoring the dweeb and blowing the dust off his finished project. Brian liked being better than everyone else at everything he did, but when it came to shop, John excelled while the brianiac couldn't even handle a simple square clock.

"You know Bender, you could probably do this project in less than twenty minutes. I mean it's just a square box with the parts thrown inside." Brian hinted, his green eyes filled with enough envy and hope to make it so John couldn't decide whether he was pleased with the statement, or just annoyed.

"Yeah, so?" He asked, already knowing what Brian was getting at. He took Bender's sarcastic remark as an invitation to reinitiate whatever fucked up acquaintance they had made during detention, and being familiar with each other, he assumed John would have no problem helping him get out of his slump. Like hell he would. Nobody helped John out of his fucking problems, why should he help someone else? Unless…

"So you could help me with my clock, right? I mean since you're not doing anything, and since we're friends. We're friends…right?" He asked, suddenly nervous. He squirmed around in his discomfort. Sure, John had ignored him everyday since they were forced to be in that detention together, and only talked to him when he wanted to tease him, but that didn't mean that he couldn't lay a helping hand at something he was naturally good at anyways, did it?

"No homeboy, we're not friends. I've got enough friends I don't want, but tell you what, you help me on a little project for Vernon, and I'll make your clock." John offered, coming up with exactly the kind of field a brianiac such as Brian would come in handy, and it would take him no longer to help John with his revenge than it would for Bender to make a simple clock.

"Uhm, well, you can't just do the project for me, but, uh, you could help. I'm supposed to do this clock myself." Brian insisted, reminding John of yet another reason he didn't want to be his friend. He had a fucking stick up his ass. It was like he couldn't break one fucking rule, even if it meant he'd get out of an F for the quarter. It amazed John that he'd somehow unknowingly convinced the same kid to get high, a fluke incident that would probably never happen again.

"Look, homeboy, I don't particularly like being at school all fucking evening, so you have two options. I do your clock while you get my project done, or I go home now, and you're fucked. It's completely up to you." John explained, waiting a small moment for Brian to answer before deciding that the kiss ass would never stray from the rules book. He started putting his coat on and making his exit, before Brian called him back.

"Just, uh, just don't make it too good. I mean, don't make it shitty, but don't make it so he'll know I didn't do it, you know? What exactly did you want me to do for you?" Brian asked, slightly frightened by John's cunning smile.

* * *

"Hey, homeboy," John called from the door of the computer lab, a B+ clock ticking in his hands, "you almost done?" he asked, ready to head back to his place and crash. He'd had a whole day of putting cars together and fixing up shop projects by hand, and if he didn't make it to his bed soon, he was going to pass out on a desk.

"Yeah, it's finished. Are you sure I'm not going to get caught for this? This is a bad idea. I can't believe I did this. I'm going to get caught." Brian panicked, watching as an unconcerned John made his way to the computer to look at the handiwork of a dweeb. He laughed a genuinely amused laugh. When he came up with the prank, he _never _imagined it'd be _that _good.

"This is on every computer in the school?" John asked, pointing to the computer screen. All functions on the computer had been blocked, and all that was displayed was a black screen with an image of Vernon, a photo of his mug on a cartoon animation of a body that was half the size of his head with its pants down, taking it up the hoo-hoo from a similar animation of Barry Manilow.

"It's on every computer, including the teacher's and Mr. Vernon's. It'll take the at least a day to crack the code to get it off. Are you sure they can't trace it back to me?" Brian asked again, knowing full well they'd never suspect that someone like John Bender had constructed such an elaborate plan _and _had the know how to put it together by himself. He needed a hacker, and Brian was the only one available to him.

"Dork, you're clear. They're not going to think you helped me unless I threatened your life or something. Are you sure Dick can't just get one of your computer buddies to fix them?" he asked, knowing full well that Brian wasn't the only dweeb in the school. If he was going to exact his revenge on Vernon for dating his sister, he was going to make sure it was good. Not something he could get rid of before third period.

"I'm sure. None of them will have any idea what to do. He's going to have to hire someone to take care of it, and even the best hacker's going to need a full day and a heavy pay to get the job done. The whole school will know about this little prank before Mr. Vernon can do anything about it. He'll have to transfer school's to get kids to stop laughing at him." Brian explained, not being able to hide the pride he had in his handiwork. He loved being the best computer nerd in the whole school, even if it did repel women.

"Brian, I could fucking kiss you right now." John said, leaning down to get a closer look at what could possibly be the greatest prank to ever be pulled on the principal of Shermer High School. He couldn't shake the feeling, however, that Brian was starring at him. He slowly turned his head to stare back at him, intimidating him until he dared to stop.

Upon this action, Brian hurriedly pressed his lips sloppily against John's and gave him the quickest peck in the history of time. He knew it was a mistake, but he couldn't help it. John had called him Brian. Not dweeb, or homeboy, or dork, but by his real name, and he had to admit, John Bender was fucking hot. He was naturally tan, had a strong jaw line, and was a bad boy without fear of any consequences. Not to mention he was cocky as hell, and confidence was a huge turn on.

John jumped back so fast that he fell on his ass. He scooted back a little, before giving Brian the same confused and nervous stare he'd given Vernon in that fucking closet. He wiped his mouth with the palm of his leather glove, hoping to rub away the memory like he could rub away lipstick. What the _fuck_ was that?

"What the fuck man!" John shouted, looking back at Brian, whose face was now as red as blood. He'd fucking kissed him! Full on, non-accidental, puckered up kiss. Him, a fucking guy, had prepped his lips and threw them against John's, another guys, no, not just a guy, a fucking guy who was going to rip his head off, hang it from the ceiling, then punch it in the fucking nose until his face _really _turned as red as blood.

"John…I'm gay." Brian admitted after a short pause, confiding something he had not told anyone. If his parents found out that their straight A, Latin speaking investment in what was supposed to eventually be an Ivey league graduate who was _supposed_ to be something for Mr. Johnson to brag about to everyone in the teacher's staff room would never get married to a woman, but instead go after other men, they'd be livid. He'd be an embarrassment to them, even if he graduated from fucking Yale. He'd kept his sexual preferences a secret from even the kids in the math league, and he was pretty tight with them.

"Yeah, well I'm fucking not! You can't just fucking do that! What the _fuck _man!" John repeated before scrubbing his tongue with the sleeve of his leather jacket, even though Brian had simply given him a quick peck on the lips, and thus never actually making contact with his tongue.

"Sorry," Brian said softly before suddenly becoming concerned with the predicament, "you're not going to tell anyone are you?" he asked, knowing full well that if he wanted to, Bender could have the whole school knowing that the school dweeb was simultaneously the school queer, just to make him miserable. After all, he and John weren't friends. John had enough friends that he didn't want, and when John didn't see someone as a friend, he saw them simply as randoms that were there only for him to get a rise out of.

"Could you just, like, not fucking talk for two minutes?" John asked, trying to sort things out in his head. A guy had just kissed him. Not like a joking kiss on the cheek, like he'd done to Vernon to make him uncomfortable, but a full on kiss on the lips. One that was meant to produce enjoyment for Brian. A fucking guy, had fucking kissed him. He could handle his father beating his head against a wall, or his mother leaving him every time he was gaining any kind of hope that she'd pursue responsibility of raising her child, and he was even learning to handle Nina going after the Dick of his school, but a kiss from another fucking guy? No. Now the big man upstairs was _trying _to piss him off.

"Alright, look, this never fucking happened, understand? If you want to be queer, that's fucking fine with me, but I'm not. Nobody fucking finds out that happened, because as far as you and I are concerned, it didn't. Suppress the fucking memory, and never even _think_ about it again, do I make myself clear?" John asked, finally feeling as if he'd rubbed all psychological and physical evidence of Brian's coming out of the closet from his lips.

"Crystal." Brian said as he picked up his clock and offered John a hand off the ground, which was denied. The rejection of his offering, however, was more or less expected to Brian from the start. He'd done it anyways simply to be polite, and because it was completely his fault that Bender was on his ass on the ground anyways.

"Oh and dweeb, I've been purposely ignoring you because I really don't like you, but Andrew said he'd like to keep his promise to you. He's all over some new personal growth shit." John offered as he picked himself off the ground and started his leave from the computer lab, which he would probably never be able to enter again.

"Really? You know, I've been going through some personal growth too, kind of," Brian said, before he was cut off by John calling out "dweeb" again, fully earning his silence and attention.

"A hard-on doesn't count as personal growth. Are you gonna give him a call or not?" John asked, sincerely hoping Andrew wasn't just saying shit when he said that he really would keep his promise to Brian and be his pal if he had the opportunity of seeing him. If not, his neighbor was going to be one pissed off jock when he got a phone call from the nerd.

"Yeah, sure. What's his number?" Brian asked, searching in his pants pocket for one of the several pens he had among his pencils. He was actually shocked that someone as popular as Andrew, the wrestling state champ, wanted to be his friend. After all, people looked up to Andy.

"How the hell should I know? Use a fucking phonebook dweebie." John said before he left the room. Brian smiled to himself. He'd noticed that Andrew wasn't the only Breakfast Club member he'd lost touch with that had gone through personal growth. Even if John did still play it off as the asshole rude boy, he'd somehow become more than that.

* * *

**a/n:  
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**missing sock23: haha thanks, i'm really glad you like the refurbished version. thank you so much for your review, and the alert and fav adds on my story and my profile!  
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	12. the question

Disclaimer: I do not own the members of The Breakfast Club

John was called to Vernon's office midway through first period. Of course, he was immediately blamed for the little slip up that took place at Shermer High, as with _every _little slip up. Usually, however, every accusation was completely appropriate. While Shermer High School wasn't completely delinquent free, mostly every act of bad character that was worth mentioning was on John's record.

"You have five minutes to tell me how to take it off." Vernon warned, glaring at John, and seething with anger. It amused John that someone like Vernon thought he was actually intelligent enough to tap into all the school's computers and pretty much put them on lockdown, with added Vernon-hump screensaver. True, John was wittier than the average criminal, and he had an immense vocabulary for his age to prove for it, but he wasn't a computer genius by any means. John Bender had never even turned on a computer; that would have involved him showing up to his computer class maybe once in his life.

"Take what off, Dick?" John asked, smiling and leaning back in his seat. Vernon didn't know it, but by saying that John was clever enough to hack into the school computer system and cause havoc that not even a paid hacker could diagnose, was probably the biggest compliment he'd ever gotten. He was half tempted to claim that he, indeed, had done it, just to encourage any further thoughts of him having the know how.

"You know damn well what, Bender," Vernon said upon standing up and closing the door to his office, signaling that he meant business, "you're going to take it off of every computer, and you're going to do it by third period, or I'm going to add a two month suspension to the four months worth of detentions you're already getting." Vernon threatened, changing John's attitude about taking credit for Brian's handiwork.

"While I appreciate your benevolent suggestion, do you really think I did whatever it is you're talking about if it has to do with computers? You're looking for someone with a pocket protector." John corrected, slanting an eyebrow. The only time he'd ever even touched a computer was when he had knocked the one off the desk in the library, and he knew Vernon knew that.

"Listen to me you little prick, I know you had something to do with this, and you can bet that I'm going to find out how, and when I do, you'll be a ghost here." Vernon threatened, pointing a threatening finger at John, who in turn let out a sigh and looked down at his hands as he played with his gloves, uninterested in Vernon's empty threats. There was no way he could pin this on him, and both of them knew it.

"I'm shaking." He answered in monotone. Sarcasm, of course, was one of the key points to John's method of pissing Vernon off. It showed that he didn't care about Vernon's power, and that he had absolutely no respect for him. It drove the principal mad; John Bender was the biggest blip in the crazy dream Vernon had of everyone at the school loving and looking up to him, and every sarcastic remark just made it worse.

"Fix it Bender." Vernon demanded, entering the point where he was too pissed to make anymore threats. The day John Bender turned eighteen and could drop out of high school was practically marked on Vernon's calendar. He was tired of all the games; John had gotten to have his little fun and now he was going to remove it, or Vernon wasn't waiting for him to leave. He was prepared to kick the shit out of him right then and there.

"I don't know how." Bender replied, actually telling the truth to Vernon for once in his life. Of course, even if he did know how, he'd accept expulsion before he undid the greatest prank ever to be pulled at their humdrum high school. At Shermer High, someone spilling milk on themselves in the cafeteria was traditionally considered newsworthy. John would never just undo the most exciting thing that was probably ever going to happen, no matter what Vernon threatened.

"Fix it!" Vernon ordered again, this time with more authority and control in his voice. He had thought he made so much progress with the little asshole in the closet that Saturday. He'd starred at him blankly, speechless, practically the whole time. He'd taken in what Vernon had said, and actually _thought _about it. What the hell had happened to all that? He'd broken down the infamous John Bender, only to watch him return to his same asshole self that same week at that fucking bonfire. And now he suddenly had computer skills?

"I don't know how," John insisted in a more annoyed and persuading voice, finally lifting his head to look at Vernon, "I'm not the only one who could have done it; the world is filled with assholes." He explained, amazed that Vernon still legitimately thought he had the capabilities of pulling the prank. He'd been in the office a good fifteen minutes already and realization still hadn't struck.

"You think you're so clever John? You think pulled one over on old Mr. Vernon? You haven't won anything Bender. If you don't fix it, I'll have a trained professional do it, I would just highly suggest you do before I find proof that this was you and I give you so many detentions that they'll carry over to the summer, now do I make myself clear? Or should I tell your sister knock some sense into you?" He asked, earning himself a cozy position under John's skin.

John hadn't talked to Nina at all since he found out she was dating his principal. He had partly assumed that she'd already used him. Taken all the money he was worth, told him she was no longer interested, and then sent him on his way like she had done with every other man she'd ever been with. In fact, Vernon had long since extended his period with Nina; John had figured it had to be over. She was probably staying with him longer than planned just because she knew it pissed John off.

John lifted his head and glared at Vernon. Richard had managed digging his way into the center of his biggest enemy's family. He could attack John from the inside now, and as long as he had that power, Nina could probably take a shit on his mantle and he'd do double flips backwards just to please her. She wasn't just a pretty girl to him anymore, she was his key.

"That's right," Vernon said with a smile, inching himself closer to John's face, "she absolutely loves me. I treat her like a little princess and she adores it. You know, I think sometime within the next couple months, I'll even propose to her. Would you like that John?" He asked, putting his hand on his shoulder.

"Don't fucking touch me!" John shouted as he leapt from his seat and pushed Vernon back, making him stumble, "you really think I give a shit who that cunt dates? And as for as expelling me goes, fucking do it, you think I'm not out of here as soon as possible anyways?" He asked, causing such a commotion that he could be heard by everyone in the library and hall outside the door.

"Sit down." Vernon ordered, pointing a finger to the chair. While he loved the little outburst of anger, he had to remember where he was. He wasn't about to lose his job over a little shit like John.

"Go fuck yourself." John replied before he prepared to make his exit, knocking over a desk with multiple stacks of paper and Vernon's personal office phone on top. He had decided to add one more goal to his list of life changes; destroy Dick.

* * *

John had elected to skip the rest of the day; maybe even the week too. What was Vernon going to do; suspend him? The sooner that asshole got fed up with him and kicked him out of that fucking school, the better. Next time, John thought he might just bring a bat to the computer monitors instead of some stupid virus and save himself the wait.

Of course, when John showed up home from school early and ran into his father, good old Joe Bender had assumed it was because he intended on smoking pot and had given him a quick right fist to the jaw before descending in his room to drink and pass out. While no major injuries were subdued, aside from a slightly swollen jaw, John decided to risk the chill of winter rather than risk waking his father up from his drunken stoop.

John put out his half finished cigarette as he watched Andrew slowly make his way over to him. There was a wide smile on the jock's face; obviously he had heard about John and Brian's little prank. The whole school had to have heard. He wondered how many of them actually had given him credit for it, and how many were smart enough to figure out that John Bender wasn't smart enough to pull it off alone.

"Brian gave me a call last night." Andrew shared, practically making John laugh. He was aware that the nerd would probably follow his advice to call Andy, in fact he most definitely would, but he thought he at least had the tact to wait a few days. The kid was hopeless. He probably rambled like a woman for a good hour as soon as Andrew had picked up.

"Yeah, well he probably has a hard on for you." John said in monotone, receiving a confused look from Andrew. He rolled his eyes, of course the school jock wouldn't take the hint that John was trying to throw to him. It was like he'd taken too many fucking throw downs to the mat or something.

"What crawled up your ass?" Andrew asked, fully aware by now that if John was answering any statement with an annoyed sarcastic remark, he was more than likely pissed about something. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to hide his smile while using sarcasm to make everyone else's lives hell.

"Why, you jealous?" John asked, before he actually considered taking the statement back. The last time he sarcastically suggested steamy actions with someone from that fucking detention, he'd gotten his very first experience with a gay kiss. He was fully prepared to take precautions to make sure it was also his last.

"Yeah, right. Brian said you that you told him you said you two weren't friends." Andrew stated, as if John really needed a summary of the day before. He was there after all, unfortunately, and he didn't need _anything _about his encounters with Brian brought back to the surface. After all, none of it happened.

"You're point?" John asked, preparing himself for a friendship speech from the super jock who'd found himself. If the new Andrew was going to go on power missions and tell John what was wrong and right, then Bender preferred the old one. At least the old one wouldn't have been caught dead on John Bender's territory, especially not when he was clearly not in the mood.

"You know my point. That's fucked up. You can't just be friends with every one of us except him. Now we've all been leaving him out, and I think if we're all gonna be friends with each other, we need to be friends with him too." Andrew pointed out. John rolled his eyes; he should have never told the dweeb to give Andy a call. He should have known that the two couldn't keep their friendships to themselves and away from John, as if it were fucking Ebola.

"Why should I?" John asked, not buying into the whole "let's all be the best of friends" idea Andrew was trying to sell. If Brian and himself couldn't be friends with each other without bringing it over to John, then John didn't need to be Andrew's friend either. Not if it was going to overcomplicate his life. Fuck, like his life wasn't _already_ overcomplicated.

"Because, you matter. I was wrong, you do count, and it makes a hell of a lot of difference to that kid if you're friends with him, alright? So just stop being a little asshole and talk to him." Andrew scolded, watching Bender as he swallowed hard. When in the hell did the school criminal start mattering? The short speech surprised John and Andrew both.

"Look, I never said the kid couldn't hang with us, okay? So un-bunch your panties and quit with the 'save the dorks' campaign." John lied as he lit another cigarette. He'd be damned if he was going to let the school jock know he'd gotten to him.

* * *

Clair was probably the very last person John would ever expect to see at his place of employment. It wasn't that she wasn't the type of girl to visit the guy she liked at his job, because it was completely the opposite. Girls like Clair loved getting dressed in some cute outfit just to show up at their boyfriend's job and watch as all his fellow workers commented on how lucky he was. However, John's case was different. John didn't work at the roller rink or some hamburger house; he worked in a dirty, stinky automobile shop. You could almost smell the car dust and oil as far as you could hear the annoying buzzing noises of the machinery.

Yet there she was, cautiously walking up to the busy mechanics, in search of John, with a basket filled with what had to be some type of baked good inside. The sight of her in such a grungy place made all the workers immediately stop, as if synchronized. Most of the girls who showed up at the shop were ghetto trash with uncombed hair, too much makeup, and not enough clothing. Not Clair. She wore an innocent white dress to match her innocent prom queen look.

"John, ain't that your girl?" Mike asked to the still shocked John. All he could think to do was nod his head and watch as the smiling girl slowly paced over to him. He ignored the dropping jaws of his co-workers, most of them jealous that it wasn't _them _with a beautiful girl walking over to them, and thinking up things to say when they teased him later.

"What's in there?" John asked, pointing to the basket. Clair laughed, when John's curiosity got the best of him, he had the ability to forget that he was an asshole and truly sound inquisitive, all without his normal threatening tone of voice. It was exactly the reaction she had hoped for when she threw the small sheet of clothe over the basket and walked out the door.

"Blueberry muffins. I made enough for everyone. I figure you boys were hungry." She said with an enormous smile, trying to remember all the debutante training her mother had put her through as a child. It was important to her that she be perfect for John. His father and mother were nothing but shit, but that didn't mean he had to be. She liked reminding him of that, all while still keeping herself, of course.

In an instant, every worker was surrounding Clair. John was officially their favorite co-worker. Nobody else's woman stopped by with sweet treats for everyone, unless it was the occasional whore who found the need to sleep with everyone at their man's workplace. The muffins, however, filled their stomachs better than any other girl, and one didn't have to worry about any infections when eating them.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" John asked after all the other men had left, muffins in hand. Clair wasn't the type of girl to risk her signature brand shoes being screwed up at some shop just to bring some boy muffins. She wanted something else; he could read it on her face.

"Nothing, I just thought you might be hungry," Clair said before a pause, her voice suddenly getting quiet, "and I was wondering what I am to you. I mean, I consider you my boyfriend. Am I incorrect?" Clair asked, inquiring the question that had been bugging her ever since she slept over his house. He'd mentioned one girl one guy. Did that mean he was _her _guy?

John was quiet, and it killed Clair. He looked down at his feet, swallowing hard and trying to decide on an answer. Honestly, he wanted her to himself. He'd been infatuated with her ever since he'd first seen her in the detention, and she'd proven to be nothing but good for him.

But he was John Bender. He couldn't have a girlfriend. It just wasn't who he was. It would mean settling down, and he didn't like to settle. Settling was for people who knew what they wanted, who'd stabilized their lives enough to introduce something new into it. He couldn't be the type of guy who bought her flowers or thought of sweet things to say to her. His mind ran merely on insults and jokes. Clair Standish needed someone who would practically worship the ground she walked on.

"I don't know." He said quietly, not looking up to her. He could never be the boyfriend type, it was completely opposite of everything John was, but at the same time, he couldn't tell her that he wasn't. That would mean her walking away, maybe even completely out of his life forever. The tiny spark of normal that had entered his world would be just a memory, and he'd be nothing but the school criminal just as soon.

"What do you mean you don't know? I'm either your girlfriend or I'm not. I'm tired of wondering. It's nauseating, and if you think I'm just going to keep kissing you if we're not going out, you're wrong." Clair said, her face red and flustered. She'd gotten exactly the reaction she was afraid of. Of course, she wouldn't be able to just stop kissing John, but it would kill her every time she did if they were just two people. People would call her a slut. That wasn't who she was, no matter people's expectations.

"I don't know, okay?" John asked, annoyed now. It wasn't like Clair was new. She knew John Bender by now. She knew how cynical he was, she knew he would probably never be able to afford expensive birthday gifts, or say the right thing to her, or even get too fucking close to her, compliments of his father, without suddenly becoming uneasy. She knew about his scars, and she knew his deep need to hide those scars, even from her, so why did she even have to ask for the answer to her question?

"Stop it! You do know, so tell me! What am I to you John? Am I your girlfriend, or am I some piece of ass?" she asked, finally losing it. Was it possible she had gotten so close to someone like him, someone who didn't let anyone close, yet she was still nothing to him? Honestly, she wasn't even a piece of ass. A piece of ass would be a step higher. She'd thrown herself at him, and he'd stopped her. So what, was he repulsed by her?

Clair and John both starred at each other. It was like a hard object coming into contact with an unbreakable wall. Clair wasn't going to let it drop until he answered, and he wasn't prepared to answer. It was a double edge sword. If he was her boyfriend, he'd have to completely change who he was just to accommodate that, and he couldn't do that. He wasn't the type of guy who got whipped by some girl. If he said no, she'd be gone forever, and that was even worse. He wasn't prepared for any of the outcomes.

"Right. I figured, you know, why don't you just forget it? Goodbye John." Clair said as she quickly turned away, not about to let a shop full of ghetto boys see her cry. After all, it was John who had told her that showing weakness in his parts was a fatal mistake. Right before they had all been jumped and she had found herself with some thug licking her cheek, all for her weakness. She wasn't going to show that to anymore bad boys again.

"God you drive me fucking mad," John said, watching a pissed off Clair spin around to glare at him before he swallowed hard, "you know, I've never actually had a girlfriend before." He said, his tone of voice suddenly changing when he saw the tears pricking in Clair's eyes. He had a feeling that the shop boys were never going to let him live this down.

"Do you want me to tell you all the things I never did before I met you?" Clair asked, creating such a list in her mind and realizing that before she met John, she lived a very sheltered life. A risk free, pristine, no fun life filled with everyone else's expectations, with the exception of one little slip up that had landed her in detention.

"Yes." John said with a cunning smirk, earning himself a girly slap in the arm, followed by a smile. They both knew what was inevitably true; John had broken Clair out of her pristine little shell and turned her almost as risky as she had mellowed him down. While he quit dope, she'd started drinking. While his dirty jokes were dying down, she'd thrown herself on top of him, fully anticipating sexual actions. They helped each other find a medium.

"John, I mean it. I can't keep throwing myself to you if we're not dating. I mean do you have any idea what a tremendous slut that makes me?" She asked, once again lying. She'd keep throwing herself at him as long as he was within walking distance from her. His answer only made a difference in how much she wanted to throw up after she was done running to him, giving him anything he'd want without ever having a relationship to show for it.

"Hey! There is _nothing _wrong with a tremendous slut!" Mike yelled, forcing smiles to break on both Clair's and John's faces despite their attempts to hide them, and a month ago, John might have even thrown an amen to him. But things were different. There _was _something wrong with a slut; Clair wasn't one. She could never be if she was ever still going to be her.

"I have to get back to work, and I'm pretty sure Mike is undressing you with his eyes, and only _I _get to do that. If I say yes will you leave?" John asked, clearing his throat and trying to hide how uncomfortable he was. He was ninety percent sure he was making a huge mistake, but he ignored the obnoxious voice pecking at the back of his head. After all, percentages were for dweebs.

"For today." Clair said with her cutest smile was she pressed herself against John, holding the last muffin in her hand. He tilted his head to kiss her before she quickly threw the muffin to her mouth, taking a tiny bite and exaggerating how good it was before handing it to John and taking off.

"Tease." John yelled, smiling to himself before taking a bite of the muffin.

* * *

**a/n: **

**emerald penguin: lol the very first time i saw the breakfast club i thought, yeah, that kids gay. lol thanks for the review**

**Ghostwriter: I remember you reviewing another one of my fanfics a couple years ago! Glad to see you're still into BC fanfics, thanks for the review!**

**blahblahblah: that song is love. that's because it's not on fictionpress. I wouldn't be allowed to publish it on fictionpress, because the breakfast club is copywrited, but i appreciate you looking! thank you for the review!**

**freedomfighter43: ditto. this story isn't on fictionpress, because i'd be violating terms by using John Hugh's characters. If you're referring to the authors note at the end of chapter one, what i meant is that i write my _own_ stories now, not fanfics, but not specifically related to this story. sorry for the confusion, but thank you for looking! I'm glad you enjoyed this story enough to find it elsewhere! and thank you for reviewing! also, it just came to my attention that i kind of...put down the wrong username for my fictionpress account. it is actually mychemicalpocky, not tehemocow. i honestly don't know what i was thinking, sorry if that contributed to the confusion!  
**


	13. the parents

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from The Breakfast Club

The rest of the week, for the first time in a long time, had been completely uneventful for John. He'd skipped all but two days of school, gotten a few minor beatings, saw Clair and the rest of his friends when he could, Brian included in such an occasion twice, but mostly, he just worked. John already had more hours at the shop than the people who had been there for years, not that this was a problem to him. With a pay like five dollars and thirty five cents an hour, exactly two dollars more than the measly minimum wage, which was what every other teenager John's age was making, he was just peachy with any amount of hours his boss decided to give him. It all meant he was that much closer to moving out.

John's days were taking on a new norm, and he was completely satisfied with the change. True, he was tired all the time, but that wasn't completely a stretch from what he was used to anyways. His life suddenly wasn't meaningless. He worked diligently on cars and made an honest living, and soon enough he'd have his own place in a nicer part of town.

"Hey dillhole," Mark shouted as he approached John, who was disassembling the engine of a minivan, "that chicks here for you again. Boss man won't let her come back here because of some safety shit he's worried about; you're going to have to go to the front to see her. She didn't bring muffins this time." He commented, once again making whipping noises as John immediately stopped what he was doing and dropped all his tools to go see the girl.

"Yeah, whatever. Since you're so apparently brisk this morning you can take over for me, dildo." John said, pretending to be his normal annoyed self. In actuality, he didn't heed being whipped by Clair. It was better than before he had her, when all he had was Mark and drugs to keep him sane. Of course, for ego reasons, John couldn't let anyone else come to the realization that he was whipped and didn't care.

"Hey jew-boy," Mark called as he watched John walk to the front, "tell her to bring more muffins next time." He demanded, laughing to himself when his best friend flicked him off in response. Since they were thirteen, Mark had realized that John was no longer satisfied with their ghetto thriving, beer drinking, doobie smoking lives. While he didn't completely understand how the rebel life could actually trouble anyone, he was happy to see his best friend escaping from it.

"Well don't you look exultant this morning?" John stated upon seeing Clair's worrisome and somewhat exasperated face. He doubted yet hoped that her current dismay was a result of getting a spot of oil or something on her powder pink skirt, though he knew his luck would prove otherwise. After all, things were looking just too damn good for nothing to be wrong.

"John, my parents saw you sneaking out last night. My dad totally flipped. He wants to meet you tonight or he's going to go total probation officer on me." Clair explained, slightly annoyed with John's sudden discontent. It wasn't like she was completely overwrought for her parents to discover that their pristine princess was seeing the school's problem child, but she trusted that her father was being completely serious when he warned that she would not leave the house without some sort of tracking device if he didn't approve of her selection in the opposite sex.

"No, forget that." John said, turning back to go to work, completely prepared to make that the end of it. There was no way in hell he was going to sit in a room with two adults who probably had their suspicions that he was nailing their daughter. What Clair had told him about them aside, he didn't do well with meeting adults. Honestly, he didn't do well at having to meet anyone, but at least people his own age found him amusing, most times even cool. Adults just saw the rotting of the future generation in him.

"Can't you just do this one thing? All I'm asking is that you behave yourself for them for a couple hours, and then they'll never bug you again." She pleaded, not prepared to lose him after she had finally gotten him to call what they had a relationship, just because her father had decided to turn into the lord of overprotective fathers.

"I said no. forget it. You never mentioned having to meet _anyone._ That's a deal breaker." He said, instantly wishing he could take what he'd said back once he noticed Clair's rosy pale cheeks turning bright red with anger. He needed to learn how to talk her like a girlfriend and not how he talked to everyone else, because they way he talked to everyone else had tendency to make for some pretty pissed off people.

"Oh, so now I'm some kind of deal? I can't believe I was _so_ stupid. Just forget it, I'll tell them I'm single." She said, preparing to leave. She was willing to do anything for her relationship with John. She'd even spent the night at his house, and stayed after his father used his body as an ashtray, but he couldn't sit through two hours with her parents if it meant they could keep seeing each other? He was the goof who'd tripped over the table and awakened her parents in the first place. If it wasn't for his clumsiness, they'd still be a secret.

"Alright, I'll meet your God damned parents," John called with a sigh, "but only because I predict that after a few martinis, I have a chance at a threesome with you and your mother." John said smiling; adding a small roar after noting Clair's disapproved face. He succeeded in having a tiny giggle escape from her light pink lips.

"You're an asshole," She said, wrapping her arms behind his neck, "look, I'm not asking you to pretend to be someone else completely, but could you clean up a little and behave yourself for them? If you piss them off they'll make sure I never see you again." She asked, biting her bottom lip in a way that John couldn't help but find adorable.

"Alright, I'll be a good boy, but it's gonna cost you." John stated as he slanted his eye brows, trying his best at keeping a straight face even though her fingers on the back of his neck were so cold and soft, in a completely pleasant and comfortable way. He was pretty sure the only time shivers were ever sent down his back that weren't immediately followed by some consequential action that led to pain, he was always with Clair.

She smiled at him and stood high on her tip toes, holding her smile not even centimeters from John's mouth for a moment and pulling away when he led in, before finally letting out a short giggle and pulling his lips into hers.

* * *

"This is fucking gay." John said as he fell backwards on Andrew's bed. In preparation for meeting with Clair's parents, Andrew had thought it wise to insist that John come over his house and borrow some nice clothes that weren't torn or faded in any way, and possibly sneak some manner lessons in as well. He'd invited Brian along for some additional positive male reinforcement. After all, Brian was a "parent's wet dream", and he liked the opportunity for all the fellows of the breakfast club to have a boys night, even if it was centered around helping John meet two rich assholes.

"That's some real nice language skills. You don't plan on speaking like that to Clair's parents do you?" Andrew asked, shuffling through his clothes for something that had at least some potential for not being rejected by John. Not that any of his clothes wouldn't look completely awkward with John's metal haircut anyways.

John opened his mouth to give a sarcastic answer, which was apparent by the cunning smirk already showing on his face, but didn't have the chance. Andrew's father made an uninvited entrance to his son's room, an annoyed expression upon finding his son hanging out with what had to be the dorkiest sissy and the biggest asshole he'd ever seen. These were not the type of people the Clark's were notorious for knowing.

"You have a meet tomorrow and you're in here playing dress up?" Ron Clark asked upon watching his son throw John a pair of jeans to try on. His presence immediately made Andrew freeze. He never anticipated his father finding out about the breakfast club. Sure, he knew about Allison and Clair, but they were the type of people Ron _expected _his son to be friends with. Having to stand up to everyone at school was cake compared to having to stand up against his father, who wanted his son to be the exact epiphany of what he was as a highschooler himself.

"Well sir, and I say this with respect, but don't they dress up in the WWF?" John asked, earning himself a glare from Mr. Clark. Andrew, of course, couldn't help but laugh. John was probably the biggest asshole alive, but some of the things he said made him wonder if Bender was the most clever person alive, and if he had downs syndrome, both at the same time.

"You think this asshole's cute? What the hell's gotten into you? Is this your way of rebelling against me making you move? This is not you Andrew, and you know it." Ron stated using two fingers on one of his hands to simultaneously point at both John and Brian. When he was in high school, he used to beat up dweebs like Brian on a regular basis, and steer well clear of burnouts like John, going about his day as if they didn't even exist.

"You mean this is not you, right Dad? Because you want me to be exactly who you were in high school, but I'm not, and I'm sorry if that upsets you, but these are my friends and this is who I am, alright?" Andrew asked, finally working up the balls to speak to his father. If John could so easily come up with a witty comment, why couldn't he just tell the same man how things were, just straight forward?

"You wanna mess up your whole future? Lose everything you've worked for your entire life?" Ron asked, half in disbelief over his son's response. Sure, he'd thrown back a few snotty lines, as were to be expected from a teenager of his age, but he'd never actually given him some ballsy statement, as if Ron was just another peer to him.

"Knock it off! I'm not going to lose my scholarships just because I'm friends with people you don't like. I'm going to prepare for my match tonight, but right now, I'm helping out a friend." Andrew said, standing completely still as he defiantly starred at his father, who glared back in return.

"What's all this noise about? I can hear you boys all the way in the kitchen; keep this up and the neighbors are going to call the cops!" Andrew's mom complained as she walked into the room, a soapy towel and bowl still in hand. John assumed that Andrew's mother was a stay at home mom, the type who took high interest in her child's life. Whenever he'd seen her, which was rarely, she was either unloading mounds of groceries from the car or planting flowers in an effort to make their shit-hole house look somewhat homely.

"Ma'am, I really wouldn't worry about that too much." John commented, putting Andrew in the awkward position of not knowing whether he found the statement funny or not. In one sense, it was yet another clever one liner that was the main reason Andrew found John to be amusing. After all, one of his neighbors was already sitting on his bed, and the others were probably too whacked out on meth to know how to work a phone, if they even had one. On the other hand, he was unsure if John meant not to worry, because there were times he himself was worried that the very people in front of him would call the cops on the discrepancies coming from his own house, which made Andrew feel somewhat sick that this somehow had not happened yet, though he heard the screaming almost every night.

"Look at who your _son _has decided to be friends with!" Ron stated, again using his one handed point to single Brian and John out, thought not really knowing why he was even bothering to address the situation to his wife. After all, she _always _took Andrew's side. She only ever yelled at him when he really screwed up, such as situations where he received an F on a paper, or gotten a detention for wailing on some kid…

"Oh, would you leave him alone? Honestly, you're embarrassing the poor kid and now you're embarrassing me. The only time Andy ever gets in trouble is when he's under _your _influence, so I'm not so sure you should be concerning yourself with his life anyways." She said, annoyance well on her face. It was bad enough she had to listen to her husband go on and on about all the things Andrew needed to improve upon himself, but now he was being rude in front of guests, and that was just too far. Just because they lived in the ghetto, didn't mean they had to act like all the families around them.

"Shannon," Ron started, but was cut off by his wife's pointing in the direction of the living room, her expression strong. He grunted and started mumbling to himself, but obediently left. After all, he wore the pants in the relationship, but she was the only one with control over the zipper.

"I'm so sorry about that; let me get you boys some snacks." She offered, leaving the room without waiting for any response and returning with three whole bowls of assorted chips and a bag of cookies. It was times like these that John was completely at a loss as to why Andrew didn't weigh at least two hundred pounds of pure flab.

* * *

To Clair's astonishment, John Bender actually presented himself well in front of her parents. He'd shown up in nice jeans, a white shirt, and Andrew's letterman jacket, and from the moment he walked in the door it had been nothing but ma'am and sir, and absolutely no curse words. Clair and her mother couldn't be happier.

Her father, however, still didn't seem impressed. The clothes didn't fool him. John had long hair and had mentioned working at an auto body shop. While normal parents were thrilled when their daughters found men who could take care of them, he saw it as a huge hint that John had poor parents. After all, why would they let their son work such a tough job if they had the money to support him? His money aside, he'd remembered seeing the delinquent with his daughter after detention. Detention was not the place the Standish children met their significant others.

"You can't date him." Clair's father established after John left. This was one of the very rare occasions that it was her dad, and not her mom, that had taken responsibility of being the strict parent. She assumed that he didn't want daddies little girl coming home with her very own bun in the oven, or perhaps he just didn't want the likes of John ruining the Standish name. Either idea was plausible.

"Oh Carl, give it a rest. The only reason she's interested in him is because of _you _anyways. You annoyed her and now she's trying to make you mad." Her mother insisted as she took another sip of her green martini. It was instilled in the woman's mind that anytime there was a problem with Clair, it was her father's fault. Her mishaps were just reactions to her father's actions.

"Oh, she's doing it to piss me off? You're the one who won't let the kid do anything! Now look, your daughter's out there dating pigs just to rebel against all your stupid rules!" her father shot back, starting the reoccurring fight that somehow replayed in any situation, like a broken fucking record.

"Why would she ever have to rebel against me when you tell her she doesn't have to follow my rules anyways?" Her mother asked, and as soon as her statement was finished, the two broke out into a full out argument. Both parents talked at the same time, rambling and ranting on without even hearing what the other was saying, all while pointing accusing fingers at each other.

"Shut up!" Clair finally shouted something she's used to dream about yelling for years. She breathed heavily, starring wide eyed at her parents with her mouth slightly parted to allow her frustrated exhales to pass. She was done trying to avoid the divorce that was bound to happen by letting both of her parents use her as an excuse to let out all their hateful feelings towards each other. She was _not _their therapy.

"I'm not rebelling against anyone, okay? Did it ever occur to either one of you that I like John? So you two are going to have to find a new subject to fight about, because I'm officially taking myself off the board. God, don't you even realize you're the reason your own son won't come around?" Clair asked, her semi-whiney voice the only one that could be heard in the house for probably the first time.

"Clair! Watch your mouth!" Her mother demanded, flustered by what she could only subconsciously admit to be the truth. If her husband and herself could make any of Clair's actions into an argument, they did so, just like they had done to her brother before he left.

"That's right Janice, piss her off a little more so maybe she goes after a serial killer next." Her father spat, obviously not taking anything Clair said to heart. She rolled her eyes; it was like talking to a fucking wall. She'd only just told them to leave her out of their arguments, and already they were going around in circles over her again.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about! You two use me so you can argue with each other, and I'm sick of it. Either go to therapy or get a divorce, I don't care, but if you don't do something soon I'm going to go live with my brother, and as for John, he's not going anywhere, so get used to it." She said before dismissing herself from the house. She wasn't going to listen to anymore of her parents rules until they were at least on the same page with them.

* * *

Andrew sat straight up in his bed, holding his breath until the small light in John's room illuminated his bedroom through the window, unknowingly signaling that he had made it from the door to his bedroom alright. He didn't know this, but when ever Andrew heard him entering his house, he'd sit up and wait for the same damn light to turn on, every time. The times it didn't nearly made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Can I talk to you real quick Sport?" His father asked, sneaking up behind him and surprising him to such an extent that he nearly jumped out of his open window. He gave an annoyed look as he caught his breath, before finally nodding. What else could his father possibly have to say to him? Hadn't he made it clear that he wasn't following the image his father had set up for him any longer?

"What you said to me earlier, it might have been somewhat true. Now, if it were any one else I wouldn't allow it, but I trust you. You're a smart kid; I know you'll keep your future in mind no matter what you do. Just remember that we can't afford to send you to school without a scholarship, alright?" He asked, nearly smiling at his son's dumbfounded nod. Though Ron Clark would never admit it, the moment his son had grown the balls to stand up to him, was the proudest moment of his life.

* * *

**a/n: WWF is what the WWE was called in the 80's. i thought it might be wise to cover some of the other families before i got to the climax of John and his family.  
**

**Ghostwriter: aren't we all? thanks for the review!**

**emerald penguin: that he does :) thanks for the review!**

**freedomfight43: Haha it's all good. sorry for the confusion in putting the wrong name down. I honestly have no idea why i did that. thanks for the review!  
**


	14. the punishment

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the breakfast club

John wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his ungloved hand. It was amazing to him that in the cold April air, which usually would be accompanied with at least three layers of clothing, he was able to unzip the whole upper part of his work uniform, having nothing but a wife-beater to insulate him, and he was _still _hot.

"Hey, Anne Frank, boss man wants to talk to you." Mark stated, receiving glares from another worker that John had to assume was either Jewish, or felt deep compassion for someone who was Jewish, because every time Mark opened his mouth and let a Jew-joke out, the same man looked like he wanted to slit his throat. John was waiting for the day that Mark got his stupid ass shot.

"Fuck." John said under his breath. His fucking shower had given him problems starting up again that fucking morning, and it had made him thirteen minutes late to work. He had figured, at the time of clocking in, that it wasn't that big of a deal. After all, it was his first offense, and there were men who were twenty minutes late daily. He couldn't get fired over a fucking shower; he _needed _that job.

John obediently made his regretful pace to his boss's office. He was told to close the door and take a seat on one of the slightly tattered leather seats. This demand ordered another "fuck" to quietly escape from John's lips. If it were going to be a quick chat, his boss would say what was on his mind and let it be that, no sit down needed. He was definitely getting the axe.

"First off, John, I wanted to congratulate you on your excellent work. You're doing a phenomenal job for this being your first experience in the work place. You have a natural talent with cars, and you are an expert at doing things with your hands. I'm very happy you decided to join my work force. You're probably the only one of these assholes I actually like." His boss explained, saying more with his deep Boston voice than John had heard from him the whole time he worked there.

"But?" John asked, knowing his boss would never call someone into his office, and waste valuable work time, just to tell him that he was doing an excelling at his position. John did, however, fully appreciate it. The only other person to call him talented was his shop teacher, and this fact aside, if his boss liked him so much, he was doubtful he'd be fired for being late. Maybe just receive a stern talking to.

"But nothing. I wanted you to know because it's not often I get workers who aren't shit. Now, onto business," his boss said, pausing for a moment to find the right words and making John's heart pause with him, "John, do you live at home with your parents?" He asked, bringing his heart to a full out stop all together. Why would he think to bring up his home? What did home have to do with anything work related? Unless, it had to do with taxes…

John slowly nodded his head, swallowing hard but trying to maintain his cool at the same time. There was no way his boss could have suspected anything. Unless, of course, that fucking idiot Mark had showed up to work drunk again, which he was notorious for doing, and blabbed John's fucking home life to anyone with fucking ears.

"Alright, I figured that much. So you care to tell me how you got all those bruises?" His boss asked, watching awkwardly as John's head shot up. John's boss wasn't the type of person who specifically gave a shit about people, so he had no idea how to approach a sensitive situation. All of this was making him slightly uneasy, but he couldn't have one of the only workers he liked going home and getting the shit beat out of him without doing something about it.

"Yeah, I," John started before clearing his throat, at a loss for words for once in his life, "got into a fight the other day." He said quickly, hoping to God his boss would buy something as generic as that. He felt like such a fucking idiot. All his life he had been careful to wear any amount of clothing necessary to hide his home life. He'd done so well at keeping it all a secret for so long, then as soon as he got the opportunity, he waltzed around like a fucking moron in fucking short sleeved shirts, lifting the bottom of it to wipe his face and fully exposing his collection of abdominal scars and bruising, and he could only _imagine _what the visible parts of his back looked like.

"Mm hm," his boss said, pausing for another uneasy moment, "you come here everyday and that back of yours looks different. Have you seen the ghetto in Boston John? I know what it looks like when someone has fresh bruises and old bruises, and, not to mention, the back is a pretty interesting place to injure by accident. Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?" He asked, watching as John shook his head but not taking his eyes off him after, still demanding more.

"It wasn't injured by accident," John started, "I was in a fight. They meant it, just the same as I meant to do what I did to them. Coming from the ghetto, you should know fights are common," he explained, trailing off to see if his boss looked like he was actually buying it. All John could concentrate on was the obnoxious beating sound of his own heart.

"Alright. If you say so. But just so's you know, I saw all kinds of things growing up, and I understand police don't treat us all equally, so I'm giving you this key to the shop. There's a spare office in the back with a coach in it, feel free to stay there anytime you feel you need to. It's not much, but it's okay for a night to crash." His boss said, handing him a key and officially marking himself in the book of the few people who made any impact on John's life. Hell, he fucking got the front page.

* * *

"You look like fucking Michael Meyers with your uniform zipped up like that." Mark stated, not failing to take notice of John's new "safer" approach to keeping his home-life secret. It no longer mattered how hot he got on the job, he was going to cover any part of his body that had any significant bruising so to be careful not to raise suspicions from anyone else. Even in the summer. He couldn't afford another slip up.

Andrew had come to pick John up from work by surprise. He said that he, Brian, Allison, and Clair had all decided to get ice cream, and they wanted him to come along too. Mark got invited because John and himself already had prior engagements, though he honestly could have had no plans and he probably would still have been asked to go. Both Clair and Andrew liked Mark just as much as John did, despite the fact he was an obnoxious asshole most times.

"Fuck off. The fucking boss called me into his office to talk about my bruises. I don't have a fucking choice." John said, in a rather irritable mood. He couldn't do _anything _normally. He couldn't be a normal son, a normal fucking child, a normal student, now he couldn't even be a normal shop boy at work? It seemed that no matter where he was, his home life was tugging at his leg by the fabric of his pants.

The table suddenly got quiet as everyone thought the same thing. John rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, putting his feet on the table to the dismay of their waitress. He didn't get what they all didn't understand about the fact that if he could just go to the cops, he would have done it already. He needed a hell of a lot of evidence before the cops were going to even _listen_ to him,let alone examine his injuries and case.

"If you say so buddy, you still look like a fucking insane-o. Anyways, I wanted to tell you something really important," Mark said, waiting for John to enthusiastically ask what, but when this didn't happen, he continued all the same, "my old man got a new job. It pays double what the old one paid, so we're moving to this nice ass condo a few streets over in a month. Looks like we'll be getting out of the fucking ghetto together." He said, smiling at the thought of not having to worry about break-ins anymore, despite missing some of the thrills the ghetto life had to offer.

"You know, I've got good news too. This thing I made for the science fair, it's like, I took different samples of water of all different temperatures and exposed them to different amounts of light, then tested the dissolved oxygen using," Brian rambled, trailing off upon noticing that everyone at his table was suddenly playing with the assorted ice cream topping jars on the counter like a bunch of third graders with ADD, "Right. Well it made it to the finals. If I win I'll get, like, this huge science scholarship and I can go to almost any school I want. I won't even have to worry about my grade in shop." He said, his pale cheeks almost bright with color.

"That's great Brian! I'm really happy for you!" Clair said, giving out her friendliest smile, even though in actuality, she had only listened to the very last part of what Brian had said. This, however, was a reaction that Brian was used to whenever he started talking about biology. He honestly didn't mind if other people didn't care to listen to him go on about it; he just liked hearing himself talk intelligently. It reminded him of how smart he was.

"My mom's got a job as a secretary," Allison chimed in, wanting to be a part of the good news; "she's finally given up on being a model. She wants to get legal custody of me and then we're buying a house." She said, her smile brighter than the day Clair revamped her and got her noticed by probably every man in town. Her mom was finally _being _a mom, and she was going to finally receive the home life she deserved where she mattered to someone.

"I've, uh, got wrestling finals tomorrow night. After this I'll have time to think about if I really want to keep wrestling or not, you know? Before next year." Andrew said, overjoyed to not have to go to another fucking wrestling practice for at a least a few months. He'd be able to concentrate on the things that really mattered for once, like finding out who he was, hanging out with his friends, and for Allison.

"I'm so happy for all you guys! God, I can't believe everything is going so well." Clair said, her smile genuinely wider than it had been in a long time for anything not dealing with John. They'd all made it out of the storm that was their teenaged lives, and were going to enter adulthood in a year with their biggest demons already defeated. What more could anyone wish for?

"Yeah, what about you?" Andrew asked, noting her particularly cheerful mood. She had good news, he knew it, everyone did, but Clair was the type of person who didn't reveal things about her life until she was asked first. He assumed this was because she had people surrounding her all through life, all asking questions and trying to find out about herself. She never had a reason to purposely bring herself up, because she was always the center of attention anyways.

"My parents are finally going to therapy. I knocked some sense into them the other night, and they called up, like, the best therapist they could find. My brother says that if they stick to it, he'll start coming around again." She said, smile getting wider yet. She couldn't believe that she, all by herself, had done something to improve her life. She'd made a difference in her own life, and it didn't take John or anyone else in the breakfast club to help her like previous times.

Things seemed to be looking up for everyone. It was like nothing could bring anyone in the breakfast club down anymore, no matter who they were.

* * *

Soft flakes of snow fell sporadically on the window of Andrew's bronco as he dropped everyone off at their homes. He remembered Allison saying something about the abnormal snowing in April being a sign. She'd said that she had expected something big to happen soon, but he had disregarded her statement as her just being weird again. It was one of the things he loved about her, but he didn't wish to explore it any further than he already had.

"John, can I talk to you real quick before you guys leave? Alone…" Allison asked as she hopped out of Andrew's dad's truck. She was the very last stop before Andrew and John went home, and she had anxiously waited the whole car ride to make it back to her place so she could get a few words in with John without anyone else around to influence his response.

John sighed in dismay and rolled his eyes but obediently followed Allison's request. The two walked to her front door and stopped, starring at each other while Allison searched for her words. The last time she had taken part in a one on one chat with John, he'd gotten so pissed that he left her and somehow had gotten himself a concussion. She wasn't prepared to make that mistake twice.

"I know…I know it's hard for you to get out of your situation, I understand cops don't like you, but I wanted to give you this. It's a business card with the phone number of people you can call for help or even just advice. These are the people I called, so I know they're good. I just…can't stand to see you having no control over this." Allison said, watching John as he looked away from her and swallowed hard.

"Who said I don't have control over it? I got a job, don't I?" John asked, finally looking back to her as she smiled her head and quickly nodded, handing him the card anyways. She kept her eyes on him until she closed her front door and disappeared behind it, proving only weird to John.

"What was that all about?" Andrew asked as John got back in his car, slamming the door behind him and putting his feet up on the dashboard. He twisted the card in between his fingers and muttered the single word "nothing" quietly, not caring to bring his family life up for a second time that night.

"So, do you have work tomorrow?" Andrew asked, his voice a little higher. John laid his head back and nodded, not bothering to open his eyes. He knew exactly why Andrew wanted to know. He wanted him to go cheer him on at his fucking match, as if John Bender was going to be seen at a national gay fest.

"Oh." Andrew said, a little disappointed sounding. Out of everyone in the breakfast club, excluding Allison of course, Andrew was closest to John. He liked how John was the type of person who challenged other people to look at themselves and their lives, and truly change; and he didn't even realize he did it. He thought he was just being an asshole, when in actuality, if John were never at that detention, nobody in the breakfast club would have become friends with each other, and none of their lives would have changed.

"If it's any consolation, I wouldn't have gone to your molest-a-thon anyways," John said, cocking an eyebrow and turning his head the tiniest bit to see Andrew's reaction. To his amazement, the jock laughed. Normally when John would make fun of Andrew's sports, he'd become defensive or annoyed; this meant he _had _to have been glad wrestling was almost over.

"So you like it? You're job?" Andrew asked, changing the subject to something he felt might lift John's agitated spirits. If talking about the one thing John had in his life, aside from Clair, that made him truly happy didn't help, then the only other alternative would be to get him wasted.

"You have no idea Sporto. If I could fucking live there, I probably would." John said, thinking about how much simpler shop life was. At the shop, all the people around him listened to him as if he were the fucking manager. He demanded authority, and they all looked up to him for his talent and his ability to get with someone like Clair and have an actual relationship. At the shop, his boss didn't hit him, or burn him, or kick him. His boss actually gave a damn about him; his boss thought he was _talented_.

John Bender was a fucking prodigy at the shop.

* * *

"John, you get your no good fucking sorry ass in here!" Joe Bender called just as soon as he heard John walk into the house. From the way his voice echoed, John could tell that his father was in his room. This meant that he'd either found his booze or the fucking earring he'd _already _disposed of once, and he sounding fucking _pissed. _

John considered running back out the door. His father would never chase him down the streets, but truth be told, he was already ready to pass out from fatigue, and was prepared to just take his beating and get it over with so he could go to bed. After all, he'd gotten rid of his stash, so what residing in his room could his father have discovered that would have gotten him more than a hit in the face?

As soon as John entered his room, he was grabbed by the hair and whipped into his dresser. He touched the blood coming from his freshly bitten lip and looked at it for a moment on his hand, before slowly looking up to glare at his father. What the _fuck _was that?

"What the _fuck _is this you fucking asshole prick? You think you're fucking smart? Think I wouldn't fucking find this? I outta hang you by the fucking neck to the fucking tree in the front fucking yard!" Joe shouted as he ripped the business card that Allison had given John just a day before into halves and tossed both pieces at John, who lay frozen on the ground.

John's eyes widened. He was fucking dead. His father had to have thought that he had planned on calling the cops, and he was going to fucking kill him for it. After all, if he didn't, what was going to stop John from getting another card and picking up a phone? No, this was it, Joe Bender had told John long ago that if he ever contacted the authorities, he'd slit his fucking throat, and now he was going to do it.

John immediately darted for the window before being thrown back down to the ground. Suddenly, for reasons unexplainable, John's fear turned into sheer rage. He'd been getting the shit beat out of him since he could even fucking remember. He always did miserably in school because he was always too busy concentrating on his number one priority: making sure nobody knew what daddy did to him. He wasn't even going to fucking graduate. He was fucking sick of it, and now his fucking father was going to kill him, because he didn't want anyone to find out that _he _was doing something illegal? And when John never _planned _on using any of the information on the card _anyways_?

"Fuck you!" John shouted as he spit on his father's boot. He prepared himself to be kicked as hard as his father knew_ how _to kick, but instead found Joe Bender looking down in an awkward angered shock. It wasn't often that John talked back to his father, and _never _had he shown enough disrespect to spit.

"Excuse me, you fucking sack of shit?" Joe asked, putting his hand behind his ear and turning them somewhat forward. For a moment, John considered making for the window again, but decided against it. Joe Bender wasn't about to let him go anywhere. He wasn't about to go to jail because his no good son got away. He was going to make sure he fucking killed him, and John wasn't going to let him. Allison was right, he just fucking let his father beat the shit out of him, and now was the moment where he had to man up and defend himself.

"Fuck. You." John said defiantly, in his signature threatening tone of voice as he tilted his head and gave the dirtiest glare he knew how to generate. As punishment for his response, he was kicked in the stomach so hard that he lost his breath. He lay on the floor gasping for air and spitting blood. He had known his father was going to be pissed at his statement, but _fuck _that hurt.

"You're fucking dead, you fucking little prick! All you ever were was fucking stupid ass trouble. I never even fucking _wanted _a fucking kid, you fucking no good god damned asshole!" Joe shouted as he sent repeated swift kicks into his son's stomach, holding one hand against the wall to keep his stance. He stopped after about seven and crouched down a little to get a look at John's face. He wanted to see every bit of agony he delivered to that fucking prick for even thinking that a fucking _shit _like himself could call the cops on him.

John, however, took this opportunity and a sudden splurge of energy to jump to his feet, punching his father in the nose hard enough to make it bleed on the way up. If he wasn't fucking dead before, he was fucking ten feet under now, but _damn _it had felt so good. It still did, as he caught his breath and watched streams of blood fall from the nose of the same man who had broken his very own nose at least once a year since he was fucking fourteen, and as he replayed the sickening snap it had made when he had done it in his head.

"You fucking bitch!" His father yelled, immediately tackling John to the ground. He held a stern grasp around John's neck, sitting on his chest and repeatedly beating his son's head against the ground, all the while keeping his hold on his neck shouting so loud that John couldn't even make out what he was saying.

John tried his hardest to pry his father's hands off of his neck, before quickly realizing it was getting him nowhere. He only had one ticket to surviving, otherwise he was going to suffocate, right on that fucking bedroom floor, before he ever got out of his shit-hole life, before he ever finished making his new future, before he ever made life work for himself.

John hurriedly reached in his pants pocket and pulled out his switchblade. He swiftly flicked it open and slammed the blade into his father's thigh, succeeding in getting free from his grasp as his father shouted long, agonizing wails of pain. The blood quickly came through the fabric of his jeans, making it darker than the man inside of them.

John scooted himself to the wall, holding his neck and gasping for air again, before realizing to himself what a stupid fucking thing he'd just done. He'd given his father a fucking _knife_. He quickly grabbed for it, but was caught by the wrist before he could even lay a finger on the handle.

Once again, his father shouted some inaudible slurred words, before pulling the blade from his knee and wielding it at John's neck. John instantly threw his head down, attempting to jump from the blade but instead receiving a long, deep, clean cut slash across his bicep.

The blood hastily made its way all the way to his fingers, and John began feeling dizzy. He looked up at the blurred image of his father before falling to the ground and pulling himself against his dresser. He screamed in agony as he held his bleeding arm and watched through watering eyes as his dad threw the blade to the side and made his way over, kicking John in the face once he did. He then took the dresser and knocked it over, hitting John in the head with the edge of it on its way down and making a stomach churning crunch.

John couldn't think of anything else to do but scream. By this point, he was too dizzy to even _think _about getting back up. He needed help, and he needed it fast. He hoped like hell that Andrew would hear him and forget everything he'd been told and just call the fucking cops, or even better yet, come over with his fucking gun, before John cursed to himself remember the fucking sport's fucking match.

"Shut the fuck up ya' little asshole!" John's father shouted as he kicked him again in the abdomen producing another un-natural crunching sound from his son's body. With every kick, John could feel his ribs taking full force of the blow, being strained to their limits against his organs. He spit up more blood and tried in vain to crawl away, but every movement made him feel like he was being ripped in half.

"Dad," John called quietly through a cracked voice, too dizzy to fully even realize what he was doing. He looked up at his father before receiving another blow to the face, this one hard enough to make his head snap back and bring him out of consciousness, as his father continued delivering his punishment all the same.

* * *

**a/n: we've reached the climax :) (that's what she said) I changed the title of the story because, honestly, i made it when i was in 8th grade, and it was incredibly lame. like, i'm pretty sure i spat out the first thing that came to mind, and made _that _the title. I feel that this one is slightly less juvenile. **

**ghostwriter: it just occurred to me that your name sounds like the movie ghost rider lol. I feel a little slow now. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter, and i hope you enjoyed this one just as much! thank you so much for the continued reviews!**

**nisashafield: thank you! that is like the biggest compliment you can give me! thank you so much for your review!**

**haleboppers: I'm glad :) and thank you for your review!  
**


	15. the search

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the breakfast club

Andrew Clark practically leaped out of his father's van, not bothering to stop at his own house before making a B line to John's window. He looked back, but only for a brief second. Allison, who had a wide, prideful smile on her face as she conversed with his dad. Mr. Clark, for the first time, had no complaints about Andrew's performance. He'd done great, and he'd done it his own way.

Though Andrew would never admit that John was his best friend to anyone, even John himself, _especially _John himself, that's what he was. He was his best friend, he was the first person Andrew would contact if he wanted to hang out, on days he knew John wasn't working, and he was the one he was _really _excited to share his good news with, even if he was just going to be made fun of for receiving the honor of _anything _while wearing tights.

Andrew had won his match. He was state champ, second year running. He'd won something without his father breathing down his neck about it. He'd decided when he was going to practice, and how hard, and how much effort he needed to put forward for every match, and he'd won. He had a sports scholarship in the bag, and honestly, he'd enjoyed wrestling that night. Not having his father demand he do better reminded him why he had signed up for the sport in the first place.

Andrew's delightful demeanor, however, disappeared instantly once he made it to John's window. His jaw dropped in disbelief, and he took a deep swallow. He quickly glanced at the driveway, to make sure Joe Bender's car wasn't parked for the night, before quickly prying the window open and leaping in.

John Bender's room looked like it was straight out of a slasher movie. There was blood _everywhere. _A huge ass dark puddle of it seeping into the carpet fibers, blood on the corner of the dresser that had been knocked over, blood on the switchblade that lay open on the floor, next to three used matches, drag marks of it, blood splatters on the walls; it was like every pint of John's blood was coating the room, the only thing missing was John.

Andrew covered his mouth with his shirt and closed his eyes for a moment to prevent himself from being sick. If John was even alive, he was in a shitload of trouble. It would have been amazing if he was even _conscious. _What the hell could he have done to receive this? He hadn't even been home for most of the day, how could he have gotten into trouble?

Andrew moved the dresser, half expecting to find a rotting corpse underneath, but instead found a small business card, stained with bloody fingerprints and ripped clear in half. He picked it up to examine it before swallowing hard again and throwing it to the ground in disgust. A fucking card consisting numbers of help hot lines all specializing in child abuse. John had been stupid enough to let his father find something like that, and he'd probably had his throat slit and his body burned to ash for it.

He then got down on one knee to examine the drag marks on the ground, surprised to find evidence in them to prove that Joe Bender hadn't dragged John's irresponsive corpse; John had pulled himself. Before every long, mishapely line of blood, was a half bloodied handprint and a diagonal line, the same length as John's wrist to his elbow, deeply invaded in the ground as if he had put all his weight in his arms.

The drag marks led to the bathtub, which had a large oval shaped spot of dark, sticky blood on the side, and blood covering both the faucet and the handle. A light, almost translucent layer of blood coated the bottom of the bathtub, showing up pink from being watered down but not completely washed down the drain.

The drag marks then continued to the living room, fading to nothing halfway and putting an end to the blood almost all together, with the exception of the handle to the front door. John had taken off somewhere, probably in search of somewhere he considered safe. A place his dad or anybody else couldn't find him and hurt him while he tried to figure out what he was going to do, and from Andrew's findings, he could only hope that this place didn't include John being alone, because he _had _to have been in bad shape. It seemed like he couldn't even _stand. _

Andrew ran from the house and back to his father's van, to find Allison and his parents still chatting happily, as if one of their friends wasn't probably dead. As if the world was as it should have been on that particular night, as if nobody had lost anyone. It amazed Andrew, that while someone important to them could very possibly have died only hours ago, the unknowing world that knew him was still content. More than content; joyful. It was unreal, like a fucking slow motion scene in a movie, right before the main character wakes up from his bad dream and re-enters a rightful world where everyone grieves at the same time.

"I need to borrow your car." Andrew blurted out quickly, having a few places of where John could have decided to go in mind. The first, and most obvious, was Clair's house. While most people would find common sense in going to a hospital, John was the type of person who liked to deal with all his wounds himself. He didn't like his family being brought up, and was just stubborn enough to refuse medical help if it meant that questions wouldn't have to be asked.

"Sure thing Sport. Just don't stay out too late, your mother and I are going to hit the sack." Ron said, winking to his wife. On a normal night, Andrew would find this stomach churning and say something to show his disapproval, but his stomach was already twisted up too tight for anything else that seemed so trivial to do anymore harm.

"Tell me now." Allison demanded as soon as his parents were out of earshot. She'd noticed what _had _to be blood on the fabric of Andrew's jeans, where he had knelt down to get a better look at the room. He hadn't come out with John, and was twitchy and shaking. Something was wrong, and it had to do with John.

Andrew didn't answer, how was he supposed to find the words to explain what he had seen? To explain that one of their good friends was probably dead? That they may never see John Bender's cocky smirk again, or hear his voice, demeaning everything about them, or even _see_ him again, unless his body was uncovered in a ditch somewhere.

Instead he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to see the scene for herself. She immediately got teary eyed, covering her mouth and quickly turning from the window. She supported herself against the exterior of the house, her knees, which caved in and met by the knees, now too weak to support themselves. What the hell was Andrew telling her? That John's dead body was somewhere inside?

"We have to find him. He lost a lot of blood." Andrew said, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her to his father's Bronco without waiting for her body to regain strength. If they were going to find Bender, they needed to do it STAT.

As soon as the car was in park, Andrew and Allison jumped from the inside and sprinted up Clair's twisted driveway. They abruptly pounded on the door knocker, startling her when she'd answered. After all, they had only dropped her off not even half an hour before, and they were exhausted and out of breath, as if they had hurried back.

"Where's John?" Andrew asked, not bothering with greetings. He panted heavily and supported his weight against he doorframe. Weeks ago, he had told John that if he disappeared, it wouldn't make any difference. It was just like fucking John to test that, and drive the person who had said it crazy with worry as he searched for him.

"He's not here. Why? What did he do?" Clair asked, tightening her jaw and twisting her head slightly, pissed at him before she even found out what he did. For Andrew to seem upset over it, he had to have done something pretty drastic, like setting Andrew's house on fire, and knowing John, she wouldn't have doubted it.

"Alright, don't flip out, but," Andrew started, taking a pause as he thought of just _what _he was supposed to tell her. And what was that anyways? That the boy she loved had disappeared, leaving nothing behind but half the blood in his body? That the boy she truly cared about, was possibly dead, and if not, would be dead if they didn't find him soon? That they couldn't fucking find him, and possibilities of getting to him on time were slimming?

"John's dead!" Allison said hurriedly, once again displaying her abnormal behavior at an inappropriate time. As Clair shouted a half agitated "what", and as Andrew gave Allison a look of disbelief, she tilted her head up and blew the strands of hair that had fallen from her headband when she ran up the driveway out of her eyes. She was never really good with sensitive topics, but Andrew seemed as if he had needed help explaining the situation to her, and it had all just come out.

"Knock it off, he's not dead. Alright, look Clair, I went to his house after we dropped you off and he wasn't there, but the furniture in his room was all knocked around, and there was some blood. We need to find him so we can make sure he's okay, but we have evidence that tells us that wherever he is, he got there himself." Andrew explained, not feeling up to telling her that their evidence consisted of drag marks and a bloody door handle.

"How much blood?" Clair asked, grabbing her coat from the hanger and closing the door behind her before even getting an answer. Truth be told, how much wouldn't have stopped her from inspecting every house in his walking distance until she found him, but she wanted to know what to expect when she did locate him.

"A lot." Allison said, once again receiving the same reaction. This time, however, she didn't feel guilty about it. Clair had asked, and she wasn't going to candy coat it for her and tell her that it was something that it wasn't. She needed to know that there was a chance that when they found John, he wasn't going to be alive.

"Look, can you two just drop it? We need to find him, alright? Now I have no fucking clue where he'd have gone off to if it wasn't your house." Andrew said as the three of them jumped back into his car, not bothering to worry about seatbelts before they sped off, mentally deciding to go up and down random streets until they got some leads.

"Well he wouldn't have gone to anyone's house. Not if he's beat up. John's really embarrassed about that kind of stuff; he would have gone off somewhere that had no people." Clair said, remembering how bashful he had been of all the scars on his torso, so much that it had prevented him and her from being intimate.

"Great. That could be fucking anywhere. I guess we'll check the allies around his house first. God dammit!" Andrew said, quickly swerving the car and turning around. He cursed to himself; why the fuck hadn't he called the cops before? All those nights he had sat up worrying, hearing Joe Bender's slurred shouts mixed with various crashes, why hadn't he called the police instead of just sitting around, wondering?

"Wait. We should get my brother first; he lives on the next street over." Clair said, giving Andrew a dirty look when he scoffed sarcastically and kept going in the direction of his neighborhood. She didn't understand what was so funny about her suggestion; in fact, she thought it was probably the smartest idea in trying to find him so far. It was better than checking her house, as if he'd ever go all that way just for her to see him in a way that he had made it clear he never wanted her to see.

"This is serious Clair. We don't have time to pick up the whole neighborhood. He might need help, you know. What makes you think finding your brother would be helpful?" Andrew asked with a somewhat debasing tone. He couldn't believe she'd even suggest wasting more time than they already had, just to go get her fucking stupid brother, who didn't even _like _John.

"Well if we find John and he's beat up, he's not going to go to a hospital, and my brother's studying to become a doctor, so," Clair trailed off, almost smiling to herself when Andrew cursed and swerved the car around again. It was what the asshole deserved for treating her like she was stupid, when she probably knew John better than anyone.

* * *

Tim Standish didn't particularly like his little sister hanging around someone from the ghetto, especially someone from a bad family. From his only experience with John, he had learned that he was a plain out jerk, with no deeper layers. He did whatever he could to make jokes at someone else's expense, and had the ability to make anyone feel like a fucking idiot, even fucking Einstein, probably. However, all it took to convince him to do a little medical practice on the side and possibly save John's life was a big, teary eyed look from his little sister.

They aimlessly drove around again, having no idea where the hell John could have pulled himself off too. He hadn't been in any of the ally's, or vacant houses, or even the local liquor store. Their efforts to find him were proving to be nothing more than a giant waste of time.

"Isn't that Brian?" Allison asked, pointing to the image of a skinny, pasty white boy riding his bicycle down the street with an enormous backpack hanging down from his shoulders. He had to have had about seven reflectors sticking to various parts of his bike and body, and his kakis were short enough to reveal his un-matching tube socks; it was definitely Brian.

"We don't have time to worry about him tonight." Andrew said, starting to feel anxious. They'd been driving for half an hour and so far only managed to generate a long list of places John _hadn't _gone to, and somehow, they still hadn't narrowed it down the slightest bit. He just hoped John knew at least some first aid, otherwise, he was fucked.

"He's the smartest, isn't he? And we're certainly not getting any closer to finding him." Clair pointed out, watching Andrew as he gave out another aggravated grunt before speeding up his car to catch up with Brain. He then stuck his head out the window and demanded he get in.

"Could you hurry up?" Andrew yelled impatiently as Brian tried to force his bike into the back of the bronco. Of course, the frail, un-masculan boy was having difficulty lifting the light frame of the bike high enough to slide it into the back. He gave a confused look at Andrew's outburst, before letting him take complete control of getting his bike safely in the back.

"Look, John's hurt, okay? There's blood all over his bedroom, and now we can't find him. We've been out looking for half an hour and we've gotten fucking no where." Andrew said, beating his hand against the metal frame of the truck and putting his head down. He was beginning to think John had somehow managed to just disappear off the face of the planet, or worse; Joe Bender had found John before they could.

"It's really bad Brian. I mean, he lost a lot of blood. We need to find him as quickly as possible. We've already searched all the ally's and empty houses and we still haven't found him." Clair said, in a somewhat more gentle, yet shaky voice. She mentally told herself that John didn't _want _to be found, because he was just fine. That he was drinking himself to sleep, and was too aggravated to deal with any of them like he'd been so many times before. Of course, she had the fortune of not having witnessed the reality of the crime scene to fall back on.

"Well, yeah. I mean why do you think, why would he go to an alley if he's hurt? He's not going to go somewhere dangerous. He had to have gone somewhere he feels is safe, you know? Like somewhere he's never been hurt, and probably, probably somewhere he enjoys being. Like, somewhere that gives him hope." Brian stammered, watching curiously as Andrew's head shot back up.

"I know where he is." He said, jumping back in the bronco and praying to God that he knew John as well as he thought he did.

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**a/n: sorry for not updating for a pretty long time. i've been scheduled to work everyday. i'm actually late to work right now...buuut no big :)**

**haleboppers: thank you for the review glad you enjoyed**

**ghostwriter: I will have to check that out. thank you for the review :)**

**missing sock23: i like cliffhangers :) thank you for the review!**

**pennyforyourthoughts: haha yes i know he'll get his chance buuut first i feel like destroying his life a little more :) thanks for your review it meant a lot! **

**jrti: haha nope i believe the writer of the breakfast club knew what he was doing in making the couples that he did, so they're just good friends in this movie. thanks for your review!  
**


	16. the rescue

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the breakfast club.

John threw his head back and grunted as another wave of pain came over him. He was in bad shape, and he fucking knew it. He was amazed he'd even been able to pull himself all the way to the shop, let alone how he was going to somehow heal from everything and come out okay. The pain hit him like a fucking hammer, making it too hard to concentrate on exactly _what _hurt (hell, _everything _fucking hurt) so he couldn't even _try _to figure out what was wrong.

He definitely had a concussion, there was no doubting that. He felt like he was roasting in a fucking oven, as the occasional light specs of snow fell on him. He wore nothing but a wifebeater, while sweat rolled down his broad forehead, and yet at the same time, his bottom lip vibrated with shivers from the cold air. He was confused. It was nearly impossible for him to organize his thoughts and concentrate on anything for more than a few seconds.

On top of everything, every fucking exhale he took made his fucking chest feel like it was collapsing in itself, and every inhale made his ribs feel like they were coming through his skin. He had to control his breathing and make sure that every breath was shallow and slow, which was fucking harder done than said with his inability to form thoughts added to the fact that he felt like he was fucking suffocating.

John tried to replay everything he could remember in his head as a tactic for bringing his mind off the pain and hopefully as a way to help himself start thinking straight. He remembered waking up in a small carpet-soaked pool of his own blood. He remembered vomiting everything in his stomach plus a shit load of his blood and being unable to breath for a good ten minutes. He definitely fucking remembered taking his still bloody switchblade, heating it up with the last of his matches, shoving a shirt in his mouth to prevent himself from making noise, and putting the fucking smoldering blade to his still bleeding bicep in an effort to hopefully keep some of his blood still in his body. He then remembered, shirt still in mouth, pouring a whole bottle of alcohol over it while the tears from his watering eyes mixed with the blood that came from the giant open gash on his head.

After this, everything got fuzzy. He was sure he threw up another time, and pulled his body using only his arms to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water. He remembered that his father wasn't around. He'd probably gone to the fucking bar to celebrate killing his no good fucking son. How he made it to the shop, however, was nothing but a blur. He recalled it being the most tiring struggle he'd ever been put through, but couldn't remember the details of it, though it had only occurred minutes before. He couldn't even remember if he _meant _to be at the shop, or if he had aimlessly happened upon it by chance.

John threw his head down upon hearing a car pull into the front of the shop. It was probably his fucking dad, who had to have realized that John wasn't fucking there anymore. He'd probably gone looking for him to finish the fucking job, and honestly, John didn't care. There was no denying that he was a dead man anyways. His organs were probably seeping blood all over each other at that very moment. He was in more pain than he could ever _imagine_, and honestly, he just wanted it to end. If he could have fucking moved, he would have fucking done it himself.

"He's over here!" John heard, lifting his head slightly at the familiar voice and trying to peek through his blood clumped hair. He made a deep throated noise as he tried his hardest to think of a face to match the voice, but didn't have time to figure it out by himself before he saw Andrew, and four other figures, make their way over to him.

_Fuck, _Bender thought, _that's just what I fucking need, for them to fucking see me like this._ Thinking this, he tried bringing himself to his feet, but fell right back into the same position after only making it two centimeters off of the ground. He did, however, in his attempts to get up, manage to make himself sick again.

"Oh my god, John?" Clair asked as she knelt down next to him, getting her hands close to his shoulders but too afraid to actually set them down, as if John would crumble beneath her if she did. The other's kept their distance, starring at the eerie figure of the boy they once knew in front of them. Even in the darkness of the night, they could tell that John was in trouble.

The dark streams of blood that started from his ears, nose, and the temple of his head all made wide rivers going down his face. The whole area of skin below his eyes had turned black and blue, to match the similar discoloration behind his ears, which was visible even through the strands of hair, thickly clumped with half-wet blood. He was an almost albino color of pale, and his open flesh looked moist and clammy as beads of sweat covered his whole face. His lips were a sickening blue, and his fingernails were almost the exact same color. His chest heaved in and out and he had one hand firmly pressed against his left abdomen and the other shaking as it held his body weight.

John entered a coughing fit before returning to his vomiting. By now, he had cotton mouth and could feel the emptiness in his stomach, and had to practically spit out the remaining mix of blood, alcohol, green bile, and mucus. He could feel his whole body shake, and the veins in his body throbbed with how fast his heart was pumping.

As John finally finished being sick, Andrew knelt down with Clair next to him. John stayed in the same position, trying his hardest to catch his breath without having to breathe in too deeply. He let out quick, shallow breaths and felt himself nearly falling to the side with every movement.

"You okay?" Andrew asked as he firmly put his hand on John's shoulder in a reassuring manner. Living next to John, Andrew had seen the school's criminal in some pretty weak states. He'd seen him drunk off his ass, he'd seen him with the worst case of morning hangover, he'd seen him throw up after drinking any amount of alcohol he could achieve, and he'd seen him after various nights of punishment, but _never _had he seen John in a case even relatively similar to this one.

"Keep your fucking hands off me!" John shouted as he quickly swatted Andrew's hand off of him. He wasn't sure why he was so incredibly agitated with everything that night, but assumed it had something to do with the nice big fucking concussion his father had given him. On top of fucking confusion, he had just fucking snapped at someone trying to help him.

John didn't have time to apologize before he fell back against the wall and grunted in anguish. He felt like there were mini fucking explosions happening at various parts of his body, all at once. He was left, again, unable to breathe and stuck in a fit of coughing. He half considered telling Andrew to fucking shoot him, if he really wanted to help.

"What's the matter?" Andrew quickly asked. John looked up at him long enough to glare. He looked to Clair next, who had a heavy stream of tears going down her face, then to Brian and Allison, who had their hands over their mouths and their heads turned, too weak to the stomach to watch a friend in such pain. He then noticed a new face, one he knew he had seen somewhere before, but couldn't place his finger on it.

"Fuck you." John said, throwing his gaze back at Andrew. His irritated mood had quickly returned upon realizing the attention that was centered solely on him. John Bender, the school criminal, was on the ground, vomiting, unable to breath, and essentially _dying. _He'd be damned if he was going to contribute anymore to his pathetic state.

"John," Andrew said before pausing, giving himself and John a moment to cool down, "we need to know what's wrong if we're going to help. Now this is serious, okay? What happened?" Andrew asked, noticing the enormous slash on John's arm for the first time, and not being able to hide the crack in his voice when he did so. The edges of the cut were blistered and burned, and dried, flakey blood ran all the way down his arm.

"What the fuck do you fucking think happened? I stood up to my fucking father and he tried to fucking kill me." John explained, watching Allison's face twist in horror and taking in a deep breath at the pain his explosion of anger ad caused. He held this breath in for a good moment, grunting as he did so. He almost laughed at his previous statement; his father _tried_ to fucking kill him? Hell, his father _had _killed him, it just hadn't happened yet.

"What do you think?" Andrew asked, looking up at Clair's brother, who slowly paced over to better look at John. He took a deep breath; he'd mentored doctors in real hospitals and was accustomed to seeing blood, but he'd witnessed people in automobile accidents that had come out in better shape than John. It was amazing to him that anyone's _father _could be the producer of such injuries.

"He's beyond my experience. He needs medical help and now. He's already showing signs of lack of oxygen. If we don't get him help soon he could fall into a coma, or…D.I.E" Tim spelled out, looking back at John who had put his heavy breathing on hold long enough to look at him like he was a fucking idiot.

"I can spell." John said, bringing his attention to Clair, who, also possessing the ability to spell, was now crying harder, and turning herself away from him. He took a slightly deep breath and grasped his side tighter. He had to somehow quit with the asshole shit, no matter how annoyed he was at the moment, for Clair's sake. Or at least try.

"John, you need to let Tim get a look at you. He needs to tell us what's wrong so we can take care of you before help comes." Andrew insisted, trying his hardest to keep his cool. He had Clair, who was crying fucking rivers, Allison and Brian, who were covering their eyes as if it were a horror movie, John, who was just making things difficult, and Tim, who was pissing John off even more. Someone had to be the collected one if anyone was going to help him.

"Fuck that." John said, not prepared to have another guy examine his body, looking at all his scars and diagnosing all his injuries. He wasn't even going to let _Clair _do something like that, let alone her fucking stupid ass brother. All the attention was just further irritating him; he was tired and nauseous and he just wanted to be alone so he didn't have to concentrate so much.

"John, _please. _You're really hurt." Clair begged, holding her tears long enough to choke out her plea. Death never seemed so real to her before that night, and she'd be damned if she was going to let the one man she loved slip away because of his own stubbornness and his fucking stupid father.

John rolled his eyes and threw his head back. Andrew and Tim looked at each other for a moment, before deciding that this was an invitation to examine him and do any treatment procedures necessary to keep him stable until help came, or until they even figured out how to contact help.

Tim inched closer to John and lifted his shirt before being slapped away and glared at. John warned him to "look, not touch" before reconsidering allowing Clair's brother to look him over at all. His ego aside, it fucking hurt for him to even lift the light fabric of his shirt, and he wasn't about to have him touching him and bringing on even more pain.

"John, I have to see everything. I think you have a broken rib." Tim said, watching John grunt in frustration before looking away and swallowing deep. How had he allowed it to get like this? How hadn't he just walked out the front door when he had the chance? How hadn't he not tore up that stupid fucking business card before he even got back in Andrew's car? How had he not fucking _called _someone on the thing?

Tim put his own hand on the hand that John used to press his pulsating side and slowly started to move it, surprised when the irritated criminal assisted him. Before it was too far out of the way, however, John threw his head back and grunted in pain. Without the pressure on the area, it felt like it was being pulled at from all sides.

Tim quickly examined the area, noting the deep bruising and puffy appearance of the flesh. He then, without warning, took two of his fingers and pressed down on various sections, causing John to yell out louder than he had when the injuries were being distributed.

"That fucking _hurts _dammit!" John scolded, throwing his hand back to its original position and allowing his shirt to fall back down over it. He gritted his teeth and waited for the pressure that his hand delivered to ease the sharp pain radiating throughout his whole body.

"Sorry, almost done." Tim apologized, before going about his examination. He put two fingers on the area of John's neck below the ear, and then moved them to his chest, firmly pressing and watching as John winced in pain. He received the same reaction when he did the same thing to John's back, despite the lack of bruising, being a symptom of bruised organs, before finally coming up with his doctor's report.

"He's definitely got some messed up ribs, a broken wrist and nose, and a sever concussion. His pulse is quick but weak, and his lips are blue so I'm pretty sure he's entering shock. He might also have some bruised internal organs. I'm not qualified to help him, he needs real help fast." Tim explained, recommencing the tears flowing down Clair's face as she repeated the words "oh my god".

"He needs you to stop fucking talking about him like he's not here." John said, angrily. He wasn't a fucking five year old with cancer. He was a big boy and he could handle the news of his injuries. In fact, he honestly knew that he was fucked long before Tim did any examining.

"Sorry. Andrew, go to the nearest phone and call an ambulance, and give me something from your truck that I can use to lift John's feet to stabilize his blood pressure. We'll stay here with him." Tim said, going on once again as if John weren't there.

"Sporto, you call an ambulance and I'll beat the shit out of you. I can't go to a fucking hospital, they'll know what fucking happened and call the fucking cops." John said, not bothering to mention the fact that he had no insurance and couldn't pay for the nice hospital bills his list of injuries was going to ring up in addition to the threats the hospital offered.

"Incase you haven't noticed John, your old man already did the worst he can do to you. It's either the hospital or you're not going to make it. We'll figure out everything after you're in better condition, but right now, we need to concentrate on getting you an ambulance." Andrew said, bringing up what John was too light headed to think of himself. His father wanted him dead. Even if by some miracle that didn't happen with previous injuries, John could never go back to his house again. He no longer had reason to fret the cops coming to his house, because his father couldn't try to kill him any more than he was already trying.

"_Fuck_." John said again, throwing his head back in frustration. He was completely fucked. Even if by some miracle he did survive, he had no fucking place to go after. He was now homeless, parentless, and if he was in the hospital for too long, jobless. And that was _if _he survived, and honestly, as thoughts were beginning to form properly in his head, this scared him.

"I'll be right back, you hang in there." Andrew said, receiving another dirty look from John before running back to his dad's car. He had no idea what would even be open at this time of night, but he had decided that he was going to drive well above the speed limit until he found somewhere.

Once he was gone, Tim propped a box that Andrew had found in the back of his car under John's feet. John, by this point, rested his head to the side and allowed Tim to do whatever the fuck he wanted. He was too worn out to care anymore, and besides that, putting up a fight put him in more pain than just letting them all try to help, despite the fact he felt he was helpless.

"John, you have to keep your eyes open. What's your favorite restaurant?" Tim asked, signaling Brian and Allison to man up and help him help their friend. They each took a deep breath and approached John. While Allison seemed like the macabre and horror type, it would surprise most to know that she didn't even watch scary movies because of the gore. She was of the weird artist type, yes, but she preferred capturing scenes of beauty, not dismay. Brian, of course, nearly passed out over paper cuts; needless to say, he was faint as soon as he was somewhat close to John.

"My favorite restaurant is fuck you, and right now, I want to go to sleep." John said, delivering his statement without the usual energy level the gang usually was able to expect from him. He didn't give a damn about fighting with Tim anymore, but at that moment, he was too tired to do anything else but sleep. If anymore poking or prodding needed to be done, Tim was just going to have to do it without John being conscious.

"You can't go to sleep, you have a concussion. That's the number one rule to a concussion; no sleep. I told you all this before. You could slip into a coma and never wake up, and we wouldn't know it was happening to do anything about it." Tim explained, as if it were the very first time John had ever even heard of a concussion. He knew exactly what the doctors recommended, he just didn't care.

"Look, dillhole, this is a regular fucking thing for me. I've gotten fucking stoned with a concussion. I know what I'm doing, alright? And I'm going to go to sleep." John lashed, unable to clearly concentrate on anything other than the temptation to close his eyes and rest his head. He was unexplainably confused, lightheaded, tired, nauseous, and irritable all at the same time, not to mention the sever pain, and he'd had enough.

"Oh, is that so? Clair, you got a mirror on you?" Tim asked, sighing as his sister shook her head. She _always _had mirrors. She had plain ones, magnified ones, ones with gems. She couldn't go a full three hours without fixing her makeup; how had she picked the one night a mirror would have actually been a useful instrument to just up and not have one?

"I've got one. I've also got bandages, antiseptic, a wash clothe, water, and cotton swabs." Allison explained, unsure of why a mirror would be a handy first aid tool, but naming off a few traditional things that would prove useful in the current situation. Of course, through her transformation, she hadn't changed the part of her who carried around anything and everything that could ever be useful in any situation.

"The mirror will do just fine," Tim said, waiting with his eyes on John as Allison rummaged through her bag and handed him the circular bejeweled mirror, "this is a regular thing for you? This has happened to you before? You've gotten stoned when you were like this?" He asked, angling the mirror so it caught the rays from the streetlight above so John could really see what he looked like.

John gave a wide eyed stare at his reflection and took a deep swallow. This was the first time he'd seen himself since earlier that night, and, if it was possible, he fucking looked worse than he felt. Practically his whole face was covered in blood. He had a giant gory gash on his temple, clotted now with large lumps of dried blood, he was paler than Brian, and various facial features had turned blue. Not to mention his fucking nose was contorted and his whole fucking face was puffy and swollen. He looked like one of the victims in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

John took the mirror from Tim and held it closer, fully examining every inch of his face, before finally having enough and, in rage, throwing the small item as hard as he could at the opposite wall while letting out a deep throated yell of frustration. He then put his head back down so his hair covered his face. He looked like a fucking corpse, and his _father _had done it to him.

"I'm sorry. I could have handled that situation better, but do you get it now? This is serious; you're already showing signs of shock. You need to fully obey anything I tell you until help gets here. Here, hold still, I'm at least qualified to realign your nose so you can breathe a little easier." Tim said, moving a few steps closer to John. He firmly grasped both sides of John's nose with one hand, and used the other to hold his jaw and keep his head still. He then squeezed John's nose and slowly started cracking it back to its original form.

John twisted in pain, throwing his head back and using his free hand to tightly grab Tim's wrist. Fixing his fucking nose hurt more than actually _breaking _it had. At least when his nose was getting fucked up, it had been one swift kick to the face, not some agonizing fucking procedure.

"You already look better." Clair said once Tim had finished, forcing a gentle smile on her face. She then took the wash clothe and bottled water from Allison, and started to tenderly wash the layer of dried blood from John's face, they're eyes not leaving each other the whole time.

When she was finished, she started to move away, but John grabbed her back. Everything hurt so god damned much, but Clair, she was so soft, and her icy hands had almost cooled the temperature that had to have been well into the hundreds. She had been the only one to touch him for hours without causing the slightest bit of pain.

Clair sat beside John and gently pulled his head down so that it was rested against her shoulder. She ran on hand through his blood-clumped hair, and used the other to hold tightly to John's free hand, interweaving her fingers in between his. At this moment, the pain seemed to decrease the tiniest bit. He could feel the thud of Clair's heart against his ear, and his heart seemed to start to beat just a little slower in an effort to catch up with hers.

Brian cleared his throat, uncomfortable with such an intimate moment between two of his friends, especially since a week before, he had kissed one of them, and not the one guys typically wanted to kiss. In response, John grabbed the half empty water bottle and chucked it at Brian, before putting his head back down and going back to the position that had brought him comfort.

"I love you." John whispered, his voice barely audible at all. Clair whipped her head to look at him. His eyes were already closed and he seemed to have passed out. She couldn't have heard him properly. John Bender didn't say those words to anyone. He was in a dizzy state and wasn't thinking clearly, and had obviously meant to say something else. But then why had it made her heart flutter so rapidly?

Suddenly, before Clair could come up with any logical explanations for what had just happened, John started to make loud wheezing noises from his throat. The wheezing soon mixed with heavy coughing, and it was quickly apparent that John couldn't breathe. He immediately woke from his momentary sleep and fell to the concrete.

On the ground, his chest started convulsing and he tightened his grip on his ribs, taking as big and quick of breaths as physically possible and trying to force as much of it down his airway as he could. The lack of oxygen caused his legs to start shaking as tingles ran up his body, and no matter what he did, it seemed he couldn't get his heart to calm down.

John's body turned blue.

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**a/n: i apologize for the wide use of the word "fuck" in this chapter. I felt that as John is frustrated and pessimistic, it help set the mood. also, i'm studying medicine and have been shadowing at hospitals, so through the next few chapters i'll probably use some terms that most people aren't generally familiar with, but i'll try my best to explain them. all i really have to explain for this chapter is that bile is fluid produced in the liver. it's often in vomit. after repeated vomiting on an empty stomach, it turns green. alcohol is steril, so it kills bacteria (no, john was not trying to get contact drunk by pouring it on his injury), blue facial features are signs of shock, concussions and shock both produce confusion and agitation, aaand back pain with no bruising is a sign of bruised internal organs. medicine is nifty :)**

**nisashafield: haha it's okay! I'm very grateful for every review you give me, and i would never even dream of getting upset because you didn't review a chapter. thank you so much for the reviews, and good luck to your cousin!**

**helinahandcart: haha i wish it could be that easy, but school won't pay for itself. I'll try to pump out chapters as fast as i can though! thank you so much for the review!**

**missingsock23: lol yeah i might have a slight problem with cliffhangers. I'm really glad you liked the last chapter and i hope you liked this one just as much, thank you so much for the review!**

**grsdf: haha not exactly but she's coming back into the story shortly :) thanks for the review!**

**dfds: sorry! i have to work! i hope i got this done quick enough! thank you for the review!**

**haleboppers: haha i'm trying :) this chapter was considerably longer than the others, hopefully that makes up for the few days it took to produce :) thank you so much for the review!**

**ghostwriter: haha it's okay, we all do it ;) thank you so much for the reviews they mean a lot to me!**

**blahblahblah: haha i'm glad you like it so much! were you right? thank you so much for the review!  
**


	17. The interrogation

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the breakfast club

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John buried his face in the pavement and took quick, deep breaths, but none of the air from his abortive attempts seemed to pass his throat, like a barricade stood in the way. He was almost certain that he heard Clair screaming, but the only thing he could really concentrate were the wheezing noises coming from his own body. He felt the veins in his neck stick out further than his middle finger ever had, and every muscle in his body tightened as they silently screamed for oxygen.

"John, you need to calm down." Tim instructed, lifting John off the ground by his shoulders, and sitting him back against the wall. He took both of John's hands, crossed them at the wrists, and held them high over his head. This, however, only made John panic more, as the pain from his ribs now violently pulsated throughout his whole body. He grunted between gasps, until Tim finally understood the reason behind John's and placed his own free hand on the injured area, applying as much pressure as John had before.

"I said calm down. Look, when the heart is deprived of oxygen, the body naturally thinks it needs to breathe quicker to account for it, but you're just going to make yourself pass out. Count to three in between each breath, you need to steady your breathing." Tim explained, receiving only a slowly raised middle finger from one of John's crossed hands. Like hell he was going to hold his breath for _any _amount of time. He fucking needed a breath first before he could hold one.

Tim shook his head. It was good to see, in a strange kind of way, that even though John was slowly dying of suffocation, he still had his sense of humor, as irritating as that sense of humor could be. And Tim was truly thankful for that, because if John was still able to act like a complete ass, it gave him license to be an ass back.

"I said calm, the fuck, down." Tim ordered again, placing his hand upwards over John's face, so his palm would cover his mouth and his middle and pointer fingers could pinch his nose closed. This action, of course, meant that he had to release his hold on John's left abdomen, which he figured was the key to John's cooperation.

John flailed in response, trying desperately to twist his head free while at the same time attempting to liberate both his arms from Tim's grasp. This, however, was a near impossible task to complete with no oxygen and a broken wrist. It didn't take long for him to follow Tim's instructions and slow down his breathing, and as soon as he did this, Tim removed his hand from John's face and placed it back over his abdomen.

With his hands over his head for better circulation, and his breaths at a more controlled pace, John managed to get his breathing back down to a soft wheeze, with the slightest amount of oxygen passing down his airway. While it was slightly annoying that this was the best he could manage, since he was now returning from his blue discoloration to his pale discoloration, he really couldn't complain.

John sat like this for another ten minutes, the whistles from his wheezing mixing with the whistling of the chill of the air, until a burade of cop cars and an ambulance finally swarmed in to help. By this point, all John could make out from it was the blurring flash of the blue and red lights, beating up against his face and seeming to add another hundred degrees to his temperature.

No time was wasted to gently approach John and ask if he was okay, like all his friends had managed doing. As soon as the paramedics leapt out of the vehicle, Tim, Clair, Allison, and Brian were pushed out of the way and John's head was lifted from the wall so that a resuscitation mask could be placed over his mouth. In response, John let his body go limp, prepared to let the doctors do whatever was needed if it meant he'd get out of the piss poor condition he was in, not that he had the energy left in him to fight anyways.

As one of the paramedics repeatedly squeezed the lower half of the silicone resuscitator, two more pulled a fold out stretcher from the back of the truck. They put it as close next to him as possible and lifted him an inch off the ground, laying him on the stretcher and pulling it up so that it was now three feet taller. They clicked it to lock it into place and hastily started to put circular sticky patches containing metal knobs in the middle on John's shoulder blades.

One of the paramedics swiftly put an ice pack to his forehead, and the other remained stationed on the resuscitator. John looked to Clair, who mouthed that it would be okay, but her image was nothing but a blur of mostly brown and orange. He wanted to call to her, to tell her to make them stop, that he'd changed his mind again and didn't want to go to the hospital, but didn't have time before he was restrained and pushed into the back of the truck. The paramedics quickly closed the large iron doors, sealing him into the tight tomb-like space.

John moved his head slightly to the right to watch as a paramedic hooked him up to a blood transfusion. Things seemed to be moving at an unnatural slow pace, and objects became hazy with every head movement. He swallowed deep and positioned his head again, this time closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to deal with the series of obscure images, while the same paramedic slipped a finger pulse oximeter onto his shaking finger.

As they took off to the hospital, John felt his heartbeat slowly going back to normal. There wasn't as much pressure in his ears and chest, and he was having somewhat of an easier time breathing. He now had just enough strength to try to break free of his restraints so he could put pressure back on his ribcage, and once he did that, he would have decreased his pain enough to hopefully fall asleep.

"John," a police officer called, making his presence noticeable for the first time as he flicked the on button to his tape recorder. He was black, with his hair cut short and visible scarring going up his neck. The muscles of his arms stretched the fabric of his uniform so that the sleeves were hugging his skin. John could have bet that this officer was once in the military. He probably wasn't one to mess with, though, honestly, John's whole mind was in such a state of fatigue that he only held onto this valuable information for less than a moment.

"I'm officer Prick. I wanted to ask you a few questions and I need you to answer honestly, but if it's too difficult, let us know and you can take a break. First, I want you to spell your first name." He asked, obviously testing if John still had the mental capacity to be interrogated. He half considered spelling it with a G, just so the officer would leave him alone and let him go to sleep.

"F.U.C.K. Y.O.U." John spelled out as the paramedic lifted his breathing mask. He wasn't about to spill his guts to some fucking cop. Cops had _never _done anything to help John, why the hell would he trust them with his biggest secrets? In fact, if he'd kept the whole ordeal a big fucking secret like he had always planned, Allison would have never even had a fucking suspicion of it, and never would have given him the tiny three by five card that had gotten him so fucked in the first place.

"Funny. Look, John, I know your type. Hell, I _was _your type. Getting into all sorts of shit and acting as if I couldn't trust anyone, until finally, one day, someone plucked everything that wasn't right from my life and gave me a second chance, and that's what I'm going to do for you, whether you like it or not, but first ya' gotsa help me a little first. I'm no miracle worker; we can't make an arrest until you give us reason to." The officer said, knowing exactly where to hit.

Joe Bender needed to be arrested. He needed to be locked up so long that by the time he got out, John was nothing but a bad dream to all of Shermer. He couldn't walk the streets before John got a chance to disappear. He couldn't have another chance to finish eliminating John from Shermer in a completely different fashion than John intended. He wouldn't allow it; he _couldn't_.

"So let's move on, since your mental ability is obviously still in check. Who did this to you John?" the officer asked. Once again, the paramedic lifted the breathing mask to allow John's answer to be clearly heard, so it could be fucking recorded on some tape so anyone it was played to would receive a fucking personal statement by John admitting that the school badass, was secretly beaten up by daddy every night.

"…Joseph Bender." John said, his voice quiet as he looked off to the distance. It sounded awkward to call his old man by his legal name, but he couldn't refer to him as his father. Never again. Since the moment John had woken up, soaked in his own blood, he'd felt death breathing down his neck. The intense pressure from his abdomen, the invisible weight on his chest, the deep sting of his wrist, the agonizing heavy pinching in his nose, the mix of numbness and radiating pain, both sensations coming from the same spot on his head, the ripping of his bicep every time he moved, not to mention the mental side effects being shared symptoms of his concussion and shock, leaving him agitated and perplexed. These were all things instilled in him by that man. The same man who'd held him at the hospital the day he was born, and occasionally filled his bottle with formula when his mother wasn't around. Even if he healed, the night that man had put him though would forever change John Bender, and he was never going to admit his relations to that man again. Not even to himself.

"Joseph Bender is your father?" Officer Prick asked, seeming to read John's thoughts and forcing him to come to grips with exactly what he was trying to avoid. John only nodded, keeping his gaze off of the cop. Besides his outburst in the library, he'd never told _anyone _about his family life. Not even Mark, who'd only come to realization that his very best friend was in an abusive home only after witnessing it when he had come for a surprise visit, so why the hell was John spilling his guts to a cop? The same type of people who hated the very thought him, and with a recorder?

"I need you to say answer verbally so," Officer Prick started before he was cut off by a very hasty and annoyed "yes, officer _Prick_", emphasis being put on the officer's last name. He expected the man to become exasperated with his rude, difficult behavior, as most adults did, but to his surprise, the cop moved on as normal, and this only further pissed John off. The whole reason he'd never gone to the authorities before was because they had always been assholes who saw him as shit. This officer wasn't _allowed_ to redefine cops, because if he did, it would mean that John had possibly gone through everything that night for nothing.

"Alright, moving on," the cop said with a stern voice, "is this the first time your father has ever hurt you John?" he asked, his voice stinging more than a wasp's bite. Not only had he refused to call Joe Bender by the name everyone else in the world was fortunate enough to know him by, constantly reminded John of his forever bound relation, but now he was prying deep. Now he had generalized his investigation to all forms of punishment John had endured.

"I wanna go to sleep." John said in a childish tone after running his tongue across the inside of his bottom lip, a reaction he'd developed long ago to any instance he was caught in an unfavorable situation. Mark had always used it to tell when he'd won an argument over on John, which happened rarely but happened nonetheless, and now the cop was probably using it for the same purposes.

It didn't matter though. It wasn't long before the whole fucking school would know that John Bender, the same kid who'd pored milk all over Stacy Minstrow's new perm, and who'd beaten the shit out of "big Ben", the notorious "big boned" football player, just for saying that John would be a pussy in a fight, the same fucking John Bender who'd gotten the whole school outside on a false alarm and then topped that prank yet by undoubtedly being at guilt for the computer prank, had been found mangled at some fucking car shop. They'd all know that the man they saw as unstoppable and who possessed a certain dexterity, came to crumble at the hands of his old man, and it wouldn't be long until his image completely blown to someone who couldn't even take on an alcoholic middle aged man. The school criminal was going to be seen as the victim, and it was going to take a hell of a lot of climbing to get himself out of that hole of expectations. He wasn't about to let it be known that he wasn't just a victim, but a long term victim, and lose _everything _he'd built.

"They'll give you some narcotics to help you fall asleep as soon as you get to the hospital, but right now, I need you to answer all my questions to the best of your ability. Otherwise you're just helping him get away with this." The officer warned, not realizing how much his single statement managed to piss John off. He was fucking sick of being accused of _letting _his father beat him. He didn't _let _his father slice his arm open, or kick him in the ribs, and he never _let _him throw a fucking dresser at his head, and he wasn't the one who was going to _let _his father get away with everything; the cops were.

"What the hell do you want from me? What, that he's hit me everyday since I was four? That I can't even fucking go to school half the time because I fucking look like shit, or that he's fucking burnt my skin with a fucking cigar _twice_ for ruining his fucking shit? Does that answer your fucking question or is there anything else you'd like to fucking ask, because," John yelled before running out of air and being left in a wheezing fit again.

His chest tightened until it felt like it had formed a tight knot. He attempted to take in deep breaths but the paramedic had already placed the breathing mask back over his mouth and was giving him one breath per three counts, taking the control John had over his own breathing, the very first thing a human learned to do. All this, however, was in vain. John was still turning as blue as a fucking smurf despite the doctors efforts.

It was going to be a long fucking night.

* * *

**a/n: i know that this chapter took a ridiculously long amount of time to post, but in addition to work, i moved and didn't have internet access. and still don't. special thanks to this chapter goes out to my neighbors, who have easy to steal internet :) **

**~medical terms~**

**resuscitation mask: you probably know what this is. it's a mask that covers the nose and mouth, and there's a big, squeezable oval shaped thing at the end that the doctor will squeeze and release to help with breathing. **

**"circular sticky patches": i actually forgot what these are called. they are small, sticky, white patches that have metal knobs in the middle. you hook up a CTG (measures heart rhythm) machine to these knobs. **

**finger pulse oximeter: these are super cool. they're little machines that clip onto you finger. there's a red light inside, and it measures your pulse and gives a reading on the little screen, though, since this story takes place in the 80's, the oximeters were probably the old school kind that have to be hooked up to a huge machine. **

**ghostwriter: thank you, and best of luck to you at school :) and i can personally say i would hate your schedule lol**

**haleboppers: haha thanks. yeah..another cliffhanger, though this will probably be the last for a while :) thanks for the review**

**pennyforyourthoughts: haha interesting idea, i don't know if i can work it into what i've already got planned, but i can try. thanks for your review!**

**emerald penguin: haha, i'm happy you're so enthusiastic about it :) thank you so much for your review :)**

**helinahandcart: nice vocabulary :) sorry i didn't quite meet your deadline, as i've explained, i might be accessing the internet illegally right now...but hey, fanfics are worth it :) thanks for your review!**

**haleboppers (again): haha i'm glad you like it so much! i hope you liked this chapter just as much! thanks for the review!  
**


	18. the blame

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the breakfast club

The paramedic hastily ripped the breathing mask from John's face and replaced it with a similar one, that was hooked up to a vaporizing machine. The back of his cot was hoisted up so that John was in sitting position, and his head was tipped backwards. In minutes his breathing returned to the wheeze that it was when the paramedics first picked him up. It was enough to make John scoff; one step forward and two fucking steps back.

"Alright bud, stay in there. We're most likely going to have to have to perform endotracheal intubation, but we want to hold off on that until we get to the hospital because it's a dangerous procedure to do on the road, and we're also going to need x-rays and a few tests done that wouldn't be possible with you intubated, so we need you to calm your breathing until we're done." The paramedic explained, talking for the first time and somehow managing to annoy John while he was at it. It was always with the "calm your breathing". He was half tempted to personally break the nose and ribs of the very next person who told him to calm his fucking breathing, and then tell them to calm their own breathing.

"You said," John started in a hushed voice as he slowly pulled the mask off his face, "that I could go to sleep when we got to the hospital." He said, frustrated with the very nerve of the paramedic for thinking that he was going to get John to spend a few hours on tiring medical procedures. He was fucking tired after a long day of work _before _he got the shit beat out of him. That natural exhaustion added to the fatigue of blood loss and a concussion, and the mass amounts of energy used to get himself to the shop and generally keep himself alive was too much to try to ignore anymore. He wouldn't make it for another hour. He wasn't even able to make a decent insult anymore.

"You have a concussion, John; you're not sleeping for a couple hours anyways. We need to run tests to figure out exactly what's wrong so we can fix anything serious. You can to go sleep in about six hours." The paramedic said, practically making John's neck snap with how fast he spun his head to glare at him. Like hell he was waiting a fucking quarter of a day to get some rest.

"I wanna go to sleep, I wanna go to sleep, I wanna go to sleep." John demanded in an annoyed tone, his voice cracking on the last "sleep", showing unintentional vulnerability to what were probably the last people who needed to realize they had an edge over him. Sleep was all he could concentrate on. His body and mind were pleading for it; even his fucking bones seemed to beg for their puppeteer to allow them some fucking rest.

"Calm down John. Concentrate on your breathing; I'll see what we can do." Officer Prick offered before pulling the paramedic to the side to discuss John's predicament. They talked in voices too hushed for John to be able to pick up what they were saying, though he diligently tried. He considered using the time he wasn't being watched to close his eyes, but before he had the chance to doze off, the officer returned.

"Alright John, the paramedic said that if the doctors monitored your brain activity, it would be okay for you to go to sleep, but only if you let them do their tests first. They're only going to do the tests that are absolutely necessary to check for life threatening conditions like internal bleeding. They can't put it off. Will you promise to let them spend maybe an hour doing their tests if they let you sleep after?" Officer Prick asked, laughing to himself when John slowly lifted his right hand to touch his forehead, followed by his left then right shoulder. A half Jewish criminal swearing to God by Catholic methods; the officer had seen everything now.

* * *

Immediately after dropping Tim off, the breakfast club had hurried to the hospital only to sit in the waiting room for three hours. By this point, it was very early in the morning, and everybody had matching sets of light brown and purple rings under their eyes. Their worry, however, somehow was enough to keep them awake and alert until the doctor finally paced his way into the room.

"Is he okay?" Andrew immediately asked, slightly annoyed that, while this was probably the fifth time they'd seen John's doctor, he'd only told them that they were unable to release any information. They didn't even know if their best friend was alive let alone okay, and the doctor wore a mask void of all emotions which made trying to make any predictions completely impossible.

"Well, he's stable," the doctor said, inferring that even this was not a favorable condition; "we ran some tests and intubated him an hour ago. He's sleeping now, no visitors. You can come back tomorrow; we're going to have to keep him here for a while, you'll have plenty of opportunities to see him." The doctor said, turning around and preparing to make his leave.

"Hey," Andrew called as he jumped up from his chair and stormed up to the doctor, "that's our friend and we care about him, and we're not leaving here until you at least tell us what's wrong!" Andrew ordered, saying what the others were too feeble and tired to say themselves. Like hell he was going to sit up all night wondering how sever John's condition was, like hell _any _of them were going to let themselves go through something like that.

"Well, let's see," the doctor said in a truly annoyed voice as he ruffled through John's charts, still fresh in his hands, "On top of a sever concussion, he's got a bruised spleen _and_ liver, a broken wrist, a broken nose, three broken ribs, a few bruised bones, sever head trauma, sever bruising of the abdomen, and a deep flesh wound of the bicep, not to mention the fact that he was in shock for a life threatening amount of time before he was brought in. You're _friend _could have, and according to medical science _should _have died tonight, and according to questioning by the authorities you _all _knew he was in a dangerous household. He's stable now, but honestly, with charts like these, I wouldn't be surprised if it took a turn for the worst sometime this week, so why don't you let me do my job and take care of _another_ battered kid with 'friends'" the doctor lashed, making it not only apparent that it was twelve hours into his shift, but that John had not fully participated in any of the tests that were performed. Not to mention, he was naturally a prick.

The doctor turned around again and made his way to another patient's room, leaving all four teenagers with their jaws dropped.

"Why didn't you hit him?" Allison asked, tightening her jaw in effort to hide the slight agitation that she expressed for Andrew not doing what was expected from him at the one time when everyone in the group needed it. The doctor had basically told them that if John died, it would be their fault, and even if he didn't, his suffering was still on their hands, and Andrew had _let_ him? Knowing that he was the only one presently conscious who'd ever gained experience hitting someone?

"John's…" Andrew started, at a loss of words, "we got him to a hospital...and…" he continued, finally dropping his head in shame and anger after giving up on trying to find a way to explain to them that he couldn't hit the doctor, because he was right, and beating the doctor until he was in the same condition as John wouldn't change that.

"And that's it. We did everything we were supposed to do. You can't blame yourself for something you couldn't control Andy." Clair insisted, becoming flustered and annoyed when Andrew's response was a scoff. She was tired of everyone assuming she was just a sheltered little rich girl who didn't know anything about the real hardships of life. Just because she wasn't going to willingly take blame for what Joe Bender did, didn't mean she wasn't able to deal with the reality of the situation.

"Andrew, listen," Allison started, taking a break from the habitual nail biting she did when she was nervous, only to be interrupted, to her irritation. She loved Andrew, but when it came to a touchy subject, he entered a state of rage that was identical to John's reaction to a subject he couldn't joke about.

"No you listen! The day we met John we knew what was happening to him but we all chose to look the other way. When I moved in next door, I fucking _heard _it every night and I ignored it, and then even when we became his friends we didn't do anything about it! Now I'm sick if ignoring it! He might die in their and it's our fault! It's_ our _fucking fault!" Andrew shouted, showing tears in front of the particular group for the second time since he'd met them. All four of them had the strange ability to bring out the true, raw emotion in him, and honestly, the results scared him sometimes.

"He didn't want to be helped." Allison said dryly, tightening her jaw and looking off to her side, her face turning almost beet red as her tears disintegrated the wall her façade made and rolled down her pale cheeks. The pain from wanting to tell Andrew that the blame was hers alone, but not being able to choke the words out, practically ripped through her.

"Yeah? Well when has Bender _ever _known what's good for him? God, why didn't I fucking do something? Instead I just fucking ignored it, I fucking hate myself." Andrew said, sliding down the wall and hiding his blood-red face. He remembered sitting in his bed, hearing Joe Bender yell something that was barely English, followed by something breaking, but rolling over and throwing a pillow over his. He told himself that John was one of the strongest, smartest people he knew, and if things were out of hand, he wouldn't need help to pull himself away. He told himself that John could take care of himself, and this memory now burned into his skull, signaling to Andrew that if John died, it would never become faint.

"And how do you think I feel? I _saw _it happen and I didn't do anything, and do you know how fast the police would believe anything I told them? But I'm not causing a scene in the middle of the hospital, because it's not what John needs right now." Clair pointed out between sobs. With her connections, she could have made sure Joe Bender was behind bars until John had children himself, long before things ever got out of hand, but she never uttered a word because she was afraid that if she meddled in John's life, he'd be so fucking livid that he'd leave hers, and she needed him there.

"John needs a fucking medical miracle, thanks to us." Andrew said, lifting his head and glaring at Clair for somehow being able to look past her guilt and remain rational, a trait he didn't possess on the moment. He wanted to crawl in a hole just so he'd never have to get the phone call telling him that John didn't make it, and somehow, in Clair's words, it seemed as if she fully expected his recovery, ignorance he was jealous of.

"Would both of you stop? You're making me sick. So you didn't run to the cops over a black eye or a loud noise, because John said not to, tell me who would. You know, the whole reason he's here right now, is because I gave him a card for child services, and his dad found it. I could have just handed his dad a gun! So you guys didn't do anything, at least you didn't do the one thing that probably killed him." Allison pointed out, her eyes crimson red from her stinging tears, but she somehow managed to hold her eye contact through her shame and burning eyes.

"I think, if Bender could hear you guys right now, he'd think you were all really pathetic," Brian pointed out in the silence that Allison created, "or he'd think this is really funny." He added, after taking further consideration into Bender's mental process. His statement managed to shut everyone up. Instead of arguing, they all starred at Brian as if he'd somehow gotten high off the car fumes back at the shop.

"I mean, listen to you all. Do you, do you really think John's sitting up blaming any of you? He wanted you all to keep his secret, and he's probably still glad you did, because it wasn't, it wasn't just that he was afraid of the cops not believing him and ending up in the same place he is now. There are probably a million reasons he didn't want you guys going to the cops." Brian explained, surprising everyone by having hidden knowledge on John, though he'd spent the least amount of time with him.

"Like what?" Clair asked curiously, wiping her clammy cheeks with the back of her palm. She looked up after Brian didn't answer, to find him starring bizarrely at her, and added an impatient "well?" she needed to know why they'd made the right choice, why John had been so avid on them keeping his secret.

"Well, there's his integrity. I mean, John loves the power he has. That day, in detention I mean, not even five minutes in and he was giving me every look to intimidate me. He needs that image of intimidation so he can be strong through everything he goes through, do you think if the whole school found out he was a child abuse case he'd still have that? He wouldn't be able to take everyone feeling sorry for him, and asking all the time if he was okay. He learned how to handle his dad; it was easier for him to deal with that than if everything had changed." Brian explained, sharing his insight into John's life. Brian couldn't help but analyze everything, including other people, so John wasn't a great mystery to him like he was to everyone else.

"What," Andrew said, clearing his throat, "what else?" he asked, as everyone leaned closer to Brian, gathering around like a group of school kids eager to hear a story. Honestly, Brian had somehow managed to lessen the guilt the all felt, and listening to more of his character analysis was better than going home and staying up for the full night worrying.

"Well, I mean, he probably didn't want to be put in a foster home. I mean, could you only imagine him with a new set of parents? He doesn't know how to back down and be obedient towards authority, and I think he'd definitely hate having a family that actually looked into his life. John likes having secrets, he couldn't do that with a foster family, he'd hate it, and, well, it'd be way to much change all at once. Like I said, there are a million reasons I think he's happy you guys didn't tell." He finished, praying to God that John wasn't going to say something to prove him wrong as soon as they were able to visit with him.

"Thanks Brian." Allison said, her appreciation followed by Clair's and Andrew's. They sat silently for about ten minutes, considering going home but never actually getting up, as if John would slip away as soon as they walked out of the hospital door, and they'd never find out about it until the went to visit the next day. Instead, they silently sat in their seats, occasionally wiping tears from their moist cheeks.

"Hey, why don't you kids head home for the night? If you leave your phone number, I'll call you if anything happens." A male nurse suggested, having heard their whole argument, but trying his best to stay out of things. Judging from his pronunciation, rapidly changing pitch, and lengthened fricative sounds, it was evident that he had "the gay lisp", which Brian imaged John had probably found incredibly amusing.

"That's alright. We're going to stay here. Thank you anyways, though." Brian said, wondering if it was just by chance he had the lisp, or if it really was a trait of his homosexuality, if he was like Brian. There was also the off chance, however, in Brian's paranoid mind, that the nurse had somehow managed to figure out that Brian was gay, and was making fun of him.

"Awe. You guys are such good friends. Alright, I'm not supposed to do this, but John's sleeping anyways so I don't see how it could hurt if you guys stayed in his room, and like, then you'd be there when he wakes up and I think having friends in his situation will really help him improve. I'm Derrick by the way." He said, a little too fast and full of energy for anyone to really believe it was as early in the morning as it was.

"Are you sure?" Andrew asked, afraid of being in the room for reasons he didn't quite understand. It seemed to him that if there were set visiting hours, they were there for a reason, and he wasn't going to find out what that reason was by fucking something up with John.

"Oh, yeah. Honestly, I'm convinced the 'medical miracle' everyone is talking about with him still being here, is that he had you guys with him until paramedics got there. Come on, I'll show you to his room, but if I do, you have to be quiet, and you have to leave him alone. Come on!" the nurse said, putting the chart he was writing in down and leading them down the hall.

"He's nice, a little weird, but nice." Brian said, before everyone's eyes nearly popped out of their heads. This wacky guy of homosexuality, who obviously was very deep in emotions to notice the group sitting and worrying, was _John Bender's _nurse. It was a fate they wouldn't even wish on Vernon.

"Hey, ugh, you haven't formally met Bender yet, have you?" Andrew asked as he awkwardly cleared his throat. He shifted a little when Derrick turned to stare at him peculiarly, wanting to warn him but not knowing how.

"No. He was in critical condition when he was brought in. He was too groggy during his tests to make any introductions, and he pretty much passed out as soon as we finished and told him he could go to sleep." Derrick said, this being the first time he ever had to explain to a patient's visitors whether or not he was introduced.

"Keep. John. Away from him." Andrew whispered to the other three. They nodded in agreement and continued down the hall until they made it to the very last room on the left. Hanging outside on the door was a chart that read "Bender, John" in big black letters, making his being in the ICU only more official, and harder for the group to tell themselves that it was a dream.

As Derrick went into the room, the other four stayed in the doorway, starring ahead, and for some reason, unable to move forward. They very clearly saw the image of him from earlier in their minds, the gallon worth of blood soaking in his clothes and hair, and covering his skin in a thick layer, the grotesque shape of his swollen and beaten face and body, and the upsetting twisting of his wrist as the bone practically punctured through the skin. They had already seen hi in such a deeply disturbing condition once, and they weren't sure if they could knowingly walk into it again.

"You always imagine it's worse than it is." Derrick called from John's bedside, this not being the first time he had to deal with a patient with the sudden case of nerves when it came to dealing with a loved one in the trauma center. He waited patiently as all four of them took a simultaneous deep breath, before making their appearance in the room.

John lay still on his back, his head tilted backwards, and his broken hand elevated on a pillow. He'd been intubated; the machine like a gas mask, pressing against the pads on his cheeks, while a tube went down the plastic cylinder that held his mouth open. His bare torso had at least seven tabs with wires at the ends, leading to the assorting machinery behind him. His hair was pushed back, and next to the large padded band aid on his head, were little metal tabs, baring resemblance to the inside of Brian's computer, with wires attached to measure brain activity. His bicep had been cleanly stitched closed, and around his abdomen was an elastic band. Probably the most concerning part of the image, however, was that John's cargo pants stuck out from under the blanket.

"He refused to wear a hospital gown. He threatened to go down to pediatrics and give the kids drugs if we made him wear one. Normally, all patients must wear the gown, but the cop he was with insisted we listen to him, and what are you gonna do, it's a cop." Derrick explained when he noticed everyone's gaze lay on John's legs.

"Is all this really necessary?" Clair asked, looking at all the general machinery and wiring but primarily to the breathing tube. She imagined that John was already uncomfortable with his injuries enough as it was, and that he didn't need a huge tube going down his trachea to add to it all.

"The machine is giving him sixteen breaths per minute, and he's receiving nineteen. That means he's only taking three breaths on his own. I understand you want him to be comfortable, but he's not in a good place right now. As soon as we can remove all of this, we will, but for now all of it's required." Derrick explained, slightly annoyed with having to explain to another patient's loved ones that they weren't horrible people who hooked patients up to un-required machinery just to make them miserable.

"If they don't arrest that asshole for doing this to you," Andrew started as soon as Derrick left the room, "I'm finding him myself and I'm snapping his fucking neck."

* * *

**a/n: stealing internet is harder than it seems. **

**medical terms: **

**endotracheal intubation: basically, there's a plastic cylinder to keep the mouth open, and a tube is fed through the cylinder. the tube goes down the airway all the way to the lungs, where a balloon inflates to keep the lungs open. the machine's purpose is to assist with breathing. you can't talk or have x-rays done when you're intubated. **

**the machinery hooked up to John's chest is an EKG machine. it monitors heart rhythm. The metal tabs connected to his forehead are to monitor brain function, and the elastic band around his abdomin is a compression band that doctors don't use anymore because it makes breathing difficult. it helps prevent further damage of the ribs. also, bones can bruise. i found that extremely interested, so i decided to share that info. **

**ghostwriter: haha i love your reviews so much because you look so deep into every chapter :) thank you so much for the review!**

**emerald penguin: I'm glad you like him, because i'm probably going to keep him as a permanent character in the rest of this fanfic. thank you for the review!**

**haleboppers: haha all the adults in this do kinda suck don't they? and thank you, i hope you're right! thank you so much for the review!**

**lover: awee i'm glad, and thank you for the review!  
**


	19. the attorny

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the breakfast club

John had basically slept through a total of seven days. He'd wake up for brief periods at a time, but the anesthesia and sedations the doctors had him on only allowed him to stay awake long enough to take a look around the room, half realize that every time he did, the crew was right there by him, and pass right back out again. Not that he was in a position to complain. Even after a week of medical attention, his whole body felt like there was a hundred pound weight on top of it. He cherished his moments of unconsciousness.

Since the previous night, however, John's luck with sleeping through the pain had run out. He'd been extubated, and was now hooked up to a general nasal mask. While the mask helped a little, John still felt as if he had to force every breath down his airway, but he did his best to put on like he was doing just fine, because he recalled the doctor telling his nurse that if things didn't work out with the mask, they'd intubate him again. There was no way in hell John Bender was going to let them shove _another _tube down his trachea. No matter how much rest he got with the damn thing there.

John managed pretending to sleep, however, just until the gang went down to the hospital cafeteria for lunch. From his knowledge, they'd seen _his _blood all over his room, they'd seen him _covered _in blood and twisted out of proportion, and they'd been by his bedside through the whole week of his vulnerability. What would he say to them when he did let them know he was fully conscious? How could he even _face_ them knowing they'd seen him in such a shit state, and that image of him would stay in their memories forever, no matter what he did to resurrect the criminal he used to be?

Through his foggy vision, John looked at the white board that hung on the wall opposite of his bed. The names of all his nurses were printed to the right of it, and to the left, messages from his friends wishing him well. It almost made him puke. He'd dealt with beatings and neglect his whole life; he attended to his injuries better than any other teenager would have been able to, and managed to get his corpse of a body to the shop where he'd be safe. He didn't _need _people to _wish _him well; if John Bender wanted to survive, that was what he was going to do. Their pity was atrocious to him. He knew how to take care of himself, and he was going to somehow continue taking care of himself as soon as the damn hospital released him.

Which brought up a new subject of thought that John hadn't completely directed at all through the whole week; what _was _he going to do when they released him? A foster home was out of the question. He didn't care if it'd only be for a year; he wasn't going to allow it. He'd run away if they even thought about throwing him into a new family, and be on the first bus up north.

There was always the possibility of buying a place himself. It wasn't like a judge was going to argue John becoming a legal adult one year early, but would he have the money? He was making more than minimum wage, but would it be enough to cover a house, electricity, appliances, furnishing, food, heat, and anything else he needed? Not to mention, it was going to take at least a year to pay off his medical bills.

He figured if he found wherever his mom was living, he could always persuade her into letting him stay there, granted he paid rent. It would definitely be cheaper than living on his own, but somehow, it seemed just as much out of the question as anything else he'd thought of. She left him time and time again, escaping and freeing herself and leaving him with his father. He almost _died, _and she was no where to be found. She was dead to him now, and staying with her was not an option.

"Fuck." John said quietly as he ran his hand through his hair. He had no fucking idea what he was going to do. The only thing that was certain was he was dropping out of school as soon as he was able to pull his fucking body around. There was no way in hell he was going back, when the whole fucking school had to have known what had happened by now. John Bender wouldn't be scary anymore. He wouldn't be the scheming criminal who, somehow, couldn't be stopped or brought down. He'd be a case number in the child service batch.

"Hi." John heard from the doorway, breaking him from his stomach churning thoughts as he snapped his head to the familiar voice. In the doorway of his room stood Nina, dressed as sophisticatedly as she could find possible and holding a small batch of flowers with a balloon tied around the ends.

"What, did Dick go limp, or are you taking a break from fucking your asshole?" John asked, his voice still scratchy and almost impossible to understand from the intubation. For the first time in his life making a rude statements had to be forced. Before, getting a rise out of people was fun, probably the only fun his poor ass could afford, but he was in too much pain at the moment to care about fun. All he wanted to was to sleep, to really sleep and not pretend, so he didn't have to deal with the bullet-sharp stings all over his body, or the overwhelming thoughts ripping his mind apart. By this point, his comments gained him no pleasure, and were only being vocalized as a method to seem strong on the outside so his vulnerability wouldn't peak out any more than it already had.

"John," Nina started, preparing to yell at him but then taking a breath, "I broke up with Richard the night you were admitted. He…told me about locking you in the closet, and what he said to you. I've been here everyday you know, but I sit outside your room, because I can't bare to face you after…fuck, John I'm so sorry for everything! I should have been there to protect you, and instead I was out with someone who was just as much as a dickhead as Dad!" Nine burst out, her tears soaking her skin and making black streams of mascara run down her cheeks, while her use of the word "dad" made John jump the slightest.

"You _really _think you coulda done anything? God you're pathetic." John said coldly, glaring at his sister. He couldn't stand when someone took a problem that was out of anyone's control, and somehow managed to grab all of the blame for it, especially when the problem happened to be the one with his father. If anyone was blaming themselves for John being in the hospital, it would mean he _needed_ them. It would mean that it _had_ been in their control, but not his own. It would mean they saw him as weak.

"So," John started after taking in a deep breath, "Can I assume Dick is going to be riding my ass for the rest of my time at Shermer?" he asked once he realized how much harder his comment had made Nina cry. As mad as he was that she had dated an asshole like Vernon, and as much as he hated that she was looking at him like he was a little boy who needed her help, she was there. She'd been there everyday because she legitimately cared about what happened to him, and she always had. For some reason, it didn't matter that she'd sat back all the times he was getting it from his father. None of it mattered because his experience with his old man had been officially terminated, which was probably the only freeing part of his condition.

"Not unless he's pushing a mop behind your ass. Richard got fired two days ago. An anonymous source hinted that he's been sneaking into the basement to read staff confidential files." Nina said, not helping but to smile when John laughed the first genuinely amused laugh in a long time. For a while, as she watched her lifeless brother in the hospital bed, she had wondered if she'd ever see his smile again.

"Where's Mark been?" John asked, his smile suddenly disappearing, and genuinely too curious to hide how much he cared in his voice. Through the moments he'd been conscious, he couldn't remember not seeing the faces of his new friends, the people he'd never meant to get close to; so where the hell was the kid who'd been there his whole life?

"He's…been around. He and that point dexter you have in here all the time don't _really_ get along, so he usually backs off to the side. You've been on drugs the past week; you probably just didn't notice him when he was so far away." Nina explained, looking off to the side. She was lying. John couldn't figure out what about, or why the _hell _his best friend wasn't fighting Clair for a seat at his bedside, but at the moment he didn't care. He had too much to think about as it was, he didn't have the mental stability to add disloyal best friend to the checklist.

"Yeah," John asked, swallowing hard and looking down at his lap, "so I guess Katherine's been off to the side too?" he asked, glaring up at Nina and daring her to lie about that too. Mark was a problem he'd deal with later, but his own fucking _mother _had no excuse for not showing her face after _her_ husband beat the shit out of _her _son.

"John, don't. Just stop. We'll talk about this when you're better, but it's your first fully conscious day and all you should be worrying about right now is what the doctors tell you." Nina advised, crossing her arms and trying her hardest to show authority through her poster.

"Fuck that! _Where _is Katherine?" John asked, glaring intimidating and flaring his nostrils. That _bitch _had no right not to show. It didn't matter that John was the child she never wanted, or that she probably could bet he'd brought the attack on himself. He was her _son_. She was supposed to be there, she was supposed to be worried; she was supposed to _care. _

"She's not here John," Nina said with a sigh, "the doctors have tried contacting her but they can't get through, and the police aren't releasing any of her information. That one cop, the one who acts like you're his damn son reincarnated, he told the doctors that if they needed parental consent for any tests, they could just go to him. She left for good John, and you know what, you're better off without her." She explained, trying her hardest to make the situation sound positive.

"You really think I gave a shit about her anyways?" John asked, trying his hardest to sound like she hadn't told him anything he didn't already know. Honestly, he'd realized a long time ago that he was better off without his mother, but that didn't change the fact that she wasn't fucking there when she needed to be. John had almost _died_. He was in the worst pain of his life, and all the doctors were sure he was living his last days, and in the time people had to be there with him one last time, to be there _for _him, only five people had showed? Only his fucking sister, and four people he'd met that year, had found his life ending to be important enough to stop by for a few hours?

"Shit, I'm going to be late for an interview. I'll be back tonight, okay? And look, don't worry about that bitch. I'm going to get a real job, and when you're out of here, we're going to figure things out together. Just don't worry about any of it right now; there'll be plenty of time to sort things out once you're better." Nina said, walking over to John's bed and awkwardly brushing his hair behind his ear as he slowly moved away from her.

After Nina left, John decided to go back to pretending he was asleep. If he couldn't take having to deal with everyone before, he definitely couldn't take it now. His father hated him enough to try and brutally murder him, his mother hated him enough to not care, his best friend was nowhere to be found, and the hospital vending machines didn't carry weed, and he _really _fucking needed his dope.

When they returned, the crew sat silently by his bedside, not taking their eyes off him for a moment, as if they'd miss the moment he opened his eyes and came back to life. Besides the occasional sniffle, not a noise was made from any of the four, and it was enough to make John sick.

"Kids," John heard from the doorway, "there's an officer in the hall. He'd like to speak with you." John assumed the voice belonged to a nurse, and wasn't interested in more police questioning, until, of course, he recognized Officer Prick's voice.

"Police located Joseph Bender last night and they have him in a holding cell. Now, we questioned him last night, and he's claiming that John's been involved in a lot of gang business. His lawyer proposed that John was attacked by a group of thugs, and is claiming John blamed his father for it to avoid getting in trouble with authorities with his involvement in these gangs." The officer explained, and before he could even finish the last sentence, all four of the kids were talking at once, shouting indecent words out of rage.

"Hey! That's enough! Wanna wake the kid and half the hospital while you're at it? Come on, I think it'll be best to finish this conversation in the lobby." John heard the officer order before hearing the scuffled sounds of their footsteps. As soon as they were out of earshot, John's eyes shot open and he practically shot up in his bed.

Joe Bender had an attorney. He was going to make some stupid ass argument, and all the judge was going to see was a father, and his asshole, druggie loser son, and it was a no brainer who he'd side with. Joe was going to be free, and he was going to find John and finish the job he started.

John ripped the tubes out of his nostrils and quickly pulled all other cords from his body. He grabbed onto the IV pole, and in an exhausting effort, pulled himself to his feet. He wasn't where he was going to go, but one thing was for sure, he wasn't going to wait in that fucking hospital for his old man to pick him up, and it'd be just like the fucking nurses to just hand John over to him. we

John took a step forward and grunted in pain. He clenched his teeth in an effort to trap the sound; it was unbelievable that he had spent a whole week practically comatose in that hospital, and his injuries were still just as painful as the day he'd gotten them. He used the wall for support, and stopped when he got to the door to take a break and grab what he presumed to be one of Andrew's sweaters.

As John lifted his hands to put the sweater on, he felt the soft flesh of his side slide against his jagged rib. He clenched his eyes shut, threw his hand over the area, and let out a muffled grunt. How the fuck could that still hurt? He felt like he'd been in that damn hospital for over a year and in the past seven days, he remembered taking more pain killers than he had throughout his seventeen years of life, which for someone like John, was really saying something. All that, and his fucking ribs were _still _fucked up?

John took a deep breath before straightening his position. He threw his head back, mentally called himself a pussy, and somehow through this strange action, found the ability to move on down the long hospital corridors.

* * *

**a/n: i hate my job. **

**i realize this took an insane amount of time to post for it being so short, but as of recently we are understaffed so i've had to work overtime. Also, i apoligize that this chapter is somewhat boring, but i felt that some explaining needed to be done due to the time leap.  
**

**medical terms: **

**extubation: the complete opposite of intubation. basiccaly, they deflate the balloon that keeps your lungs inflated, tell you to cough, and pull the tube out. I've seen it done, and i'm supposed to get to perform one eventually, so i know it's a really quick process but it's probably really painful or at least weird feeling.**

**the nasal breathing tube John was put on was the one you see in pretty much all the movies. it goes in the nose, behind both ears, and meets together under the chin.  
**

**Ghostwriter: haha that's a VERY interesting idea :) unfortunetly, i've already got the web of the story in mind and it would throw it off, but I'll keep it in mind and see if i can play with it :) thank you so much for your input and all your reviews!**

**haleboppers: haha i know, i wanted to include mark in the last chapter, but as cell phones weren't invented at the time or were only for the rich, i thought it would be unrealistic for them to find him on the way as well, sooo, i did something else with his character. thank you for the review! **

**pennyforyourthoughts: haha sorry, i've been so busy lately. i finally took a day to get everything i've been neglecting done, which includes this story, and the beginning of the next chapter :) thank you for your review, and i'm glad to steal internet if it means i can continue this story :)  
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	20. the unexpected duo

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the breakfast club.

The cold wind nipped at the uncovered areas of John's body, numbing his skin and biting sharply at the open flesh. He burrowed his neck in Andrew's coat and dug through the deep pocket of his cargo pants until his fingers slid over the sleek metal caskets of a Zippo lighter. At least, through everything that had happened the past week, he had been admitted with man's best friend by his side.

Taking a cigarette from the pack he'd stolen only moments early, he ignited the Zippo and inhaled the smoke that immediately came as he lit the cigarette through his nostrils. He was so satisfied with his ability to pick-pocket the small treasure, in his state, and then somehow make it through the hospital corridors without ever being stopped that he would have had sex with himself if he could. Hot, rip your clothes straight off the body style. He was a tremendous thief.

Though it wasn't exactly his brand, John smiled at his accomplishment through quivering lips, before bringing the treasure to his mouth and slowly taking in the fumes, before hacking them right back up as if he were a heavy asthmatic trying out a blunt for the first time.

John couldn't fucking believe it. Of course, he'd experienced difficulty breathing through his whole great escape from the hospital bed, hell, even before he tore the breathing tubes out, but he had thought he'd at least made enough progress to smoke one fucking cigarette. He'd been doing it his whole fucking life, and it wasn't as if any of his injuries were directly imposed on his lungs, so _why _was he being denied of the only medicine that could help him at that point?

Frustrated, John growled and threw the useless stick to the ground. He had no money, no car, no place to go, he was in constant pain, he couldn't even take the most miniscule drag from a cigarette, and he _really _needed that fucking cigarette. This was probably the most ineffective way to start the rest of his life; he honestly couldn't think of any additional conditions the dick in the sky could add to make things worse.

A siren went off from the hospital and flashing lights illuminated the snow. Oh yes, he was also a fucking runaway that the largest hospital in Illinois was liable for. John grunted in frustration before pulling his body up to peek over the decorative wall of the hospital grounds to get an idea of how far down shit creek he'd gotten himself down.

A blue and red light went off from above the hospital door and a group of disgruntled family members and a few doctors congregated outside the door, pounding on the glass and demanding to be let in. Police officers held their weight against the door and shouted orders that John couldn't make out.

Fantastic. The hospital was on lock down. Fucking. Fantastic.

John had figured he'd only have a few minutes to disappear from the room and blend into the population of ordinary visitors and medical staff before his nurses came to realization on the fact that his machines weren't picking up any signals. He assumed that if he played healthy well, he'd make it out in time and the hospital would contact authorities, but he never thought they'd be fucking stupid enough to put the whole hospital on lock down over one, almost legal, escapee.

John assumed the doctors had underestimated his ability to escape the hospital premises. He figured they assumed he'd made it as far as a closet or another patients room or something, and had barricaded the doors in order to search every square inch of the hospital without chance that he'd finish his journey and fully escape, which was possibly a good thing for him. It'd be at least a couple hours before they came to realization that he had, in fact, pulled his carcass all the way to the outside of the hospital walls. His chances of getting the hell out of there hadn't been completely soiled, but now he had no choice. He needed to get as far a-fucking-way as he could or he was in deep shit. He couldn't even _imagine _what kind of piss poor trouble his antics had gotten him into this time, but he imagined sending a whole hospital under lock down had probably gotten him worse than a detention, such as his other schemes had been rewarded with.

The only problem was John couldn't fucking move his ass any more without resting. His original plan was to stay in the shadow of his hiding spot until the next night, before pulling his body another few feet. While it had been half baked, at the very best, it was still the best he was able to come up with in his state. _Now _what? In only a few hours, every square foot of the premises would probably be searched, and John didn't feel his stomach or breathing had reached enough stability to lift himself again.

John grunted as he ran his gloved fingers through his hair. He tugged lightly before throwing his head down in half-defeat. He had to at least give himself another half an hour of stillness before getting on the move again. He just had to pray to the same sick God who'd put him in his current position that it still left him with enough time to make his escape.

Almost instantly after thinking this, a set of high beams fell on John and practically blinded him. He'd been caught by _someone, _too bad he couldn't fucking make out who it was. Not that it really mattered. Whoever it was obviously had some interest in him, since they'd been fucking sitting there with their lights on him for an uncomfortable amount of time.

John considered swearing to never listen to Judas Priest again in return for a miracle, but deserted the thought of prayer almost instantly. He grabbed the top of the wall and pulled himself up once more, this time all the way to his feet. He clenched his side and ran a full three feet before falling back to his hands and knees and becoming sick just out of reach of the lights.

"Bender! Bender, what is this? What the hell do you think you're doing?" a familiar voice asked, sending chills down John's back and almost giving him the strength to pull his ass back up and start running again. He whipped his head around to spot Vernon and Carl, both awkwardly stumbling toward him in what had to be the most comical time he'd ever witnessed people over forty trying to sprint.

John didn't fully know what to make of the situation. His only conclusion was that he'd somehow gotten high; but how? He'd been clean for weeks now, and he _never _would have left that fucking hospital if they were giving him narcotics that made hallucinations seem _that _real. So how the fuck was he supposed to explain the school janitor and the man who had probably put John first on his hit list running straight towards him?

"There's no weed in the vending machines." was all John could manage choking out when the duo finally made it to him. He grunted and rubbed his groggy eyes. If his cognitive ability wasn't already slowed down, his social abilities were fucking screwed. He was too exhausted to even find a way to explain his ridiculous statement, as the two men in front of him exchanged confused glances.

Carl knelt down in front of him and reached his hand out, but John smacked it out the way and backed further through the snow, lifting his chin to hide the curiosity and apprehension in his face. They weren't hallucinations, they were acting too logically, considering the scenario they were in. They were too close, and the frost from their breaths were too visible in the cold.

Which brought John to his next half-conscious conclusion: Vernon was pissed that John had led to the break up of himself and Nina, and had been thrown over the edge through losing his job on top of that, so he'd decided to track John down and "knock his dick in the dirt". It wasn't like he had to worry about losing his job over it, after all, and in John's state, he was in absolutely no circumstance to fight back. It was the perfect opportunity, and he'd even brought back up.

"Keep your fucking hands off me!" John shouted as he aimed to smack Carl's ascending hand again, only to miss and fall forward. He caught his fall with his hands, and grunted in frustration at how pathetic he'd been ever since that one fucking night. Carl was what, forty-five? At least? And he couldn't fucking aim and hit his hand out of the way without ending up on his hands and knees in the snow?

"Are you drunk?" Vernon asked, half accusingly, half astonished. This was most certainly the most awkward, unpredictable, insane night of his life, and he honestly had no idea how to handle the situation. Not that he ever really had. All his years as being a principal were nothing but a giant power struggle between him and his students. Control seemed nonexistent in his life.

"I wish." John muttered between heavy coughs and tight wheezes. He took in a deep breath and turned his head to the side to glare at the two, breathing heavily as he wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his glove. If he couldn't run, he was going to try damn hard to put on the impression that he was in no worse a state than he ever was.

"Hey, knock it off! You think this is cute? Geeze, what were you thinking? Look at you?" Carl exclaimed as he again reached for John, grabbing his fist when he went to swing and throwing it to the ground. John struggled to break free as he felt Carl's chilled hand against his inferno forehead.

"Get the fuck off me!" John yelled, his voice cracking through the exclamation. He again struggled to break away from Carl's hold before become too exhausted to move anymore. John fell backwards in the snow, being caught by Carl, who leaned him against a tree trunk for support.

"Look at me. You need to go back. The whole place is looking for you. Geeze man, _look _at yourself! You've done a lot of stupid shit before Bender, but this tops the charts big time pal." Carl exclaimed as he glanced at John, noticing his disfigured face and shaking body even in the shadow.

"I'm not fucking going back to that place." John stated, glaring up at Carl to show that he meant every word he'd said. As soon as he convinced these assholes to leave, he was going to get off his fucking ass and get out of there like he should have done before they'd even found him.

"Oh yeah? And why not?" Carl asked, an irritating smile on his face. As if he saw John as some silly kid, saying something ridiculous that he was going to disprove as soon as he was given more to go on. Like he didn't see John as his equal, but as another dumb kid, and the fact that John had actual grown up problems was funny to him.

"Mind your own fucking business, fag." John spat, keeping his front up not only as the only protection he felt he had, but because he was afraid that as soon as he dropped it, he'd sound like a babbling idiot saying random ass shit again. He would have given anything, even his fucking Zippo, for the two to just get back in their truck and leave him the fuck alone.

"You know what? Fine, you missed your shot to enlighten me, so I'm going to stay here with you and make sure you stay right in this spot, and Richard over there is going to go back to the hospital and tell any of the cops by the door where you are." Carl said, practically making John's jaw drop. None of the other adults in his life had actually _acted _like adults and presented John with authority, unless it came in the form of a broken piece of furniture coming at him at full speed.

"You're fucking bluffing." John decided aloud. Carl had snitched on Brian after the gun had gone of his in locker, but all in all, he wasn't the type of guy who typically stuck his nose in other people's business. After all, he'd said it himself. He had access to all of their lockers. If he was the type of guy who meddled with people's lives, he could have had John expelled his first _day. _All in all, Carl was a peaceful man who kept to himself. He wasn't going to take John to the cops.

"Wanna bet?" He asked, before nodding to Vernon, who hesitantly started walking back towards the car. In a moment of panic, John called out to him to stop, freezing instantly once both sets of eyes fell back on him. What was he going to do? He had to tell them in hopes they'd see the reason in having to leave.

"My old man got a lawyer. He's gonna get custody of me again." John mumbled, his head dropped low. He hated having to share details of his personal life to on lookers. It was none of their fucking business what he was going through, and he didn't need their fucking sympathy or ridicule to make it on his own.

"Are you kidding me man? Look, with a fever like that it's not even possible for you to think rationally, I just can't believe that place didn't have someone watching you, I mean for crying out loud!" Carl exclaimed, only pissing John off even more. Since when was Carl a fucking doctor? He was thinking as logically as he could, and he felt that being able to pick pocket and get out of the fucking hospital before it went under lock down was enough evidence of that.

"I'm not leaving." John stated matter of factly, raising his eyebrows and turning his head to the side before gazing up at Carl to see how he'd taken it in. To his irritation, he was laughing again. As if he thought it was fucking funny that he was about to go back to his same old life of getting backhanded for speaking out of line, or getting locked out of the house no matter what the weather, or the drugs and alcohol and loss of hope for a future.

"Yes, you are. There's no way in hell those cops are gonna let your father anywhere near you again, no matter what his lawyer says. They're going to make sure you're safe from now on, but you know what? There's nothing they can do if you freeze to death out here on your own. Now I'm tired of arguing, get up and get in the car so we can take you back." Carl ordered, sending John over the top again. He couldn't take the fucking hint that he didn't _want _to go back to the fucking hospital, so there was no way he could fucking _make _him.

"Shut the hell up with the hospital already! Always with the go back, well you know what, I fucking like it out here, this is my new fucking home and I'm never going back to the fucking hospital, okay?" John asked, shaking now from rage in addition to the cold. In reality, there was no fucking way Carl could promise he was safe. He was one man, and he couldn't control the law. What if John did go back, and everything Carl had promised was wrong?

"Okay, okay," Carl exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in what seemed like defeat, "but we're gonna stay with you for a little bit to make sure you're okay. Is that fine? Do you wanna throw some lumber in the fireplace?" he asked, making fun of John's outburst but finally giving him some of the space he needed.

"What's he doing here?" John asked, nodding to Vernon. He was too curious with the presence of the one man who hated him almost as much as his father did to worry about the fact that he was in such a state that the school's janitor was cracking jokes about him. Carl had made it clear that he didn't impose a threat, and that he only cared that John be back under medical attention, but what in the world could Vernon want?

"His car got towed, I was giving him a lift and he noticed you." Carl explained, trying to make himself as physically possible for his boots being a foot under snow and his back end being supported only by his heels. John had definitely picked one hell of a night to decide to pull this shit, but then, that was what he was known best for.

"Whatever." John said, unconvinced. He'd purposely put Vernon through hell, and with the addition of his sister, had drove two girls away from him, two girls that he'd somehow miraculously ended up with in the first place. He might have had too high a fever to think completely with logic, but he knew the truth from completely ridiculous.

"Really John. I honestly didn't even notice you there, and if I had, I wouldn't have recognized you. It was Richard who told me to pull over, and you're lucky he did. I don't think you would have made it very long out here on your own." Carl trailed off, making poor attempts to subtly suggest he still wasn't in a good place.

"Why?" John demanded, not completely buying Carl's story but still compelled to figure out a motive anyways. It was a mix of personal curiosity and desire to keep the topic off of him going back to the hospital long enough for Carl to get so uncomfortable in the snow that he just gave up and left.

"Well Richard? Why?" Carl insisted, as if he knew something that John didn't. Like he already knew the answer to the question that they both asked. This, again, irritated John. If he knew, he should just say it himself, unless, of course, Vernon was preparing to make some sappy fucking speech. As if John hadn't endured enough of those throughout the past week.

"Look, Bender, Nina told me about what your home life was like the night I found out she was your sister. As your principal and an adult, it would have been my responsibility to get you out of there. With my credentials, I could have had child services rip you out of that place fast enough to make your head spin." Vernon stated, as if bragging that he could have made everything better, without it having to come to a week in the hospital, but had chosen not to.

"Why're you telling me this?" John asked, unable to think up an appropriate reaction to what he was being told. Had Vernon seriously had Carl pull the car over, managed to pull himself over to the scene with minimal falls, watched John and Carl struggle, just to rub it in his face that he could have prevented everything, but hadn't?

"I never did because I refused to believe it, even though it was right there, because if you came from a house like that, it would give reason behind your behavior. It'd explain unexcused absence, or every time you were caught acting out or smoking behind the bleachers, but it still gave me no reason for the way I acted, and if you came from a family like that, it made the way I acted even more irresponsible. I didn't want to deal with that, so I just pretended she was lying." Vernon explained, practically blowing John back with his change of character. He'd been out of the job for less than a week and he was…suddenly acting human?

"Well, if it makes you feel better, everyone thought you were a prick anyways, even before I got there." John informed him, cocking his head and raising an eyebrow. Vernon's change of character was of the abnormal, but honestly, John couldn't really process what was happening enough to diagnose it.

"Yeah, well, that's why I'm leaving Shermer. Everyone thinks I'm a fucking joke here. I'm leaving here tomorrow and I'm going to find a job where I don't have to deal with punks everyday. Something I'll get respect for doing, but I'm not if I'm going to make the second mistake twice. If you die out here, it's my fault, so will you at least get in the truck? I promise, we won't take you back, we'll even let you hold the keys, but you can't stay out here." Vernon suggested, his proposal almost too good to pass for the exhausted and almost frozen Bender, if only…

John remained still, starring awkwardly at the hand Vernon offered. Nothing seemed better at that moment than curling up in front of the car heater getting out of the mound of snow he was practically buried under, but he'd gotten himself in a position that he couldn't rise from. His knees were too wobbly to support his body, his ribs were ripping through his skin again, his heart was beating too fast for his breathing to catch up with, and he felt that if he even tried to move, he'd just throw up again. He couldn't spend another second in the cold, but he couldn't manage getting to the car either.

"Well?" he asked, quickly getting annoyed with the amount of time John was taking to accept his proposal. Vernon was never a patient man, and John knew that if he waited too long, the offer would vanish and soon after so would Carl, finally too uncomfortable to try to reason with him. He couldn't let that happen, he either needed a heater or some damn good liquor.

John cleared his throat before looking to Carl, than back at Vernon. How the hell was he supposed to tell these men, one of which barely knew him and one of which hated him, that he couldn't even lift himself from the ground let alone walk to the car? If it wasn't fucking bad enough they knew about his home life, now he needed their fucking help to walk to a mother fucking car?

Luckily for John, Carl figured it out. He instructed Vernon to hold onto one of his arms, while he himself wrapped the other around his own shoulders and then grabbed John by the torso. The three struggled to the truck, in what was probably the most demeaning moment of John's life.

The three sat in silence for at least ten minutes as John silently shivered in the car, coming to realization of just how cold he was once he was in front of the heating system. The fact that he hadn't realized how cold he was before, might have been proof that his fever was messing with his ability to think logically, like Carl had suggested, but there was still no way in hell he was going back to the hospital.

"John, I really think you need to accept that you can't make it on your own yet. You couldn't even stand up, how were you planning on getting somewhere warm? Where you even planning that far? Or were you just going to sit in the cold until you died of hyperthermia? I mean, what are you gonna do after this? When we leave? Do you have somewhere to go? 'Cause I tell you bud, we don't got the gas to sit around here forever, this truck's gonna run out real fast." Carl said, raising both his eyebrows and pointing to the gas needle on what was probably the first truck ever made. It figured Carl would drive a fucking dinosaur.

John remained silent. There were probably a million smart ass comments running through his mind, but he was simply too tired to make his lips form any of the words. He drowned out Carl's disapproving voice and concentrated on his life before all this shit had gone down. Was it really that bad? Any other child thrown into the circumstance would be terrified, but John had grown up with it. He personally adapted to the behavior. He was used to getting hit for stepping even a toe out of line, he knew the creaks and breaks of his house and had grown to live with it, and he was never really ashamed of his drinking and drug problems to the point that he sought change. Was all this _really _worth all that have possibly changing, or should he have just kept his fucking mouth shut?

"Hey! I'm talking to you! Now, you're a real smart kid, but you don't use any of that common sense you've been given and you go and do stupid shit like this! You have a shot at a really good life now, so you need to stop acting on impulse and do what the doctors and cops tell ya' to do and let them help you get better, because I'm telling you, you're not going to make it another hour out there." Carl said, his words like needles that popped the mindset of questions invading John's mind.

John remained silent still. Carl had no fucking idea what he was talking about. He _had _to think on impulse. Thinking on impulse had saved his life countless times. Thinking on impulse was the whole reason John had made it to seventeen years of life, why he was mentally okay, for the most part, why he hadn't been beaten to death, or starved, and how he always made sure he had what he needed. Thinking on impulse had never failed him before, in fact, if he'd followed his impulse to just leave the house when his father called his name, instead of walking into that damn room, thinking on impulse would have him back in his warm room without the god damned pain everywhere. Who the hell was Carl to tell him not to rely on his impulse.

"It's freezing out there and you got no place to go. You need to accept that there's finally a situation you can't get yourself out of, and go back. I highly doubt your dad's case will see the light of day," Carl started, pausing when John threw his eyes open and snapped his neck towards the janitor. He tried his hardest to make an intimidating face, even through the cold and pain, and told Carl _not _to call that fucking prick his dad.

Carl froze. It never occurred to him that John Bender, the kid who'd broken the record for detentions given in a five minute period, and who had gotten his kicks out of making fun of everyone in the room, even the janitor himself, had been emotionally stung by what happened. That a single word could now send chills down his back. He'd had no problem calling Joe Bender his old man himself, but hearing the word from someone else's mouth, he couldn't handle. The word "dad" came out too naturally for the feelings it caused.

"Okay. Okay. I doubt his case will see the light of day, but if they do schedule a court date, it won't be for months. By the time they're ready to hear this case, you'll be almost as good as new. If you really think the courts are just gonna throw you back into that household, then at least wait until then. You'll be healthy enough and you'll be thinking properly again, but right now, all you're doing is killing yourself." Carl advised, bringing into light something John couldn't believe he hadn't realized himself. Of _course _they weren't going to have him defend himself when he could barely move. He was losing it, whatever _it _was that had always put him on the top of the survival list, and he needed to get it back. Or he'd never survive.

"Take me back," John started, before realizing how defenseless he sounded and adding, "but as soon as I can, I'm out of this fucking place, and it won't take fucking months for me to fucking recover." He informed, deciding to set his goals on getting better as soon as physically possible so he could regain all the power he'd lost, and get the hell out of Shermer.

"Fine by me." Carl said, yanking the shaft hard and putting the truck into drive.

* * *

**a/n mini-story bonus: once upon a time mrsjohnbender was getting out of the car and her breast cancer awareness band, which is ironically supposed to save lives, got caught on something and she slammed the door on her thumb. Her thumb instantly turned very black, and so swollen that she could not move it and when she compared it to her other thumb, it was three times larger. Because mrsjohnbender's nail was so nasty, she was unable to type for a few days and for a week, she was unable to move it at all, but mrsjohnbender was feeling the john bender mood, so she attempted to move her laptop downstairs where she could type while keeping the other hand raised. this was a stupid idea. mrsjohnbender is not strong enough to carry a laptop down the stairs with only one hand, and it slipped, with the adapter still in it (the power cord). the laptop fell and the adapter broke inside. it took mrsjohnbender two hours using her best tweezers to pull pieces of the adapter from the computer, and needless to say, she would need another. however, the evil merchants priced their adapters at eighty dollars, and mrsjohnbender had already spent that much on urgant care for her thumb, which was turning completely black, and not just under the nail. mrsjohnbender waited a week, before hacking into her mother's laptop, having to RETYPE a chapter already saved to her computer, but in the end, it turned out better, because in retyping the chapter which only needed to be spell checked, mrsjohnbender was able to include Carl, who is much more likely to say the things said to John, as he busted Brian for the whole flare gun thing. and he's just awesome.**

**moral of the story: when closing a car door, always move your thumb FIRST. **

**ghostwriter: i'm glad you like the last chapter :) i can make a variation of it work, while i have pretty much the rest of the story planned, there is always room for extra drama :) especially if it makes the readers happy :) thanks for your review!**

**haleboppers: lol your rambling made me laugh :) i'm glad you liked the chapter even though it wasn't as climatic as other chapters. John's recovery is almost under way so it's finally time for me to start focusing on other characters again! and he really did have it coming, before i showed his human side, i wanted to make sure he got what he deserved for everything he'd done that was borderline illegal. thanks for your review! **

**helinahandcart: i feel REALLY bad for taking so long to update after that review, but as the ministory states, a series of events revolving around my thumb injury made it hard. however, this chapter was three pages longer than the average chapter :) thank you so much for your review!**

**kyraillion: awee! that really meant a lot to me! haha, i've watched the breakfast club at least once a month since i was in the eighth grade, so that might have something to do with it. thank you SO much for your review!**

**pennyforyourthoughts: i am SO jealous of you! the closest i've been to the ocean is a picture of a fish haha. thanks for your review!  
**


	21. the arguement

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the breakfast club

Clair had been sitting in the waiting room at the hospital for nearly half an hour. Every so often a doctor would pass and ask if she needed something, to which she would sheepishly reply no, watching as they gave her a moment's awkward glare before continuing on her rounds. They probably thought she was insane; sitting around in the waiting room in the middle of visitation hours, instead of hanging by a loved one's side. It was probably one of the first times she'd done something to bring negative attention to herself, not counting walking through the halls of school while holding hands with John. That wasn't to say she particularly liked this negative attention, but to relieve herself of it, would mean taking action, which she was still unable to do.

John was a fucking idiot, and would probably always do things to piss her off, always upping his game, but she was completely baffled in admitting to herself that she managed to find it possible to love him so much that she was still worried sick about him. Every moment she spent in class, she tuned out the teacher and thought of him. Whether or not the doctors were giving adequate attention to him, whether he was getting visitors, or just sitting alone all day, whether he was _finally _doing what the doctors told, or if he was still doing stupid shit to prevent any of his injuries from healing properly. She wondered if his miraculous healing was still the case, or if he'd suddenly taken a turn for the worst. On top of all that, thanks to recent antics, she had to add worrying about him trying to run away to the list, and for that, she was pissed.

Honestly, John had done a lot of stupid shit in his life, hell, John Bender was the _epiphany _of stupid behavior, but just deciding to up and leave the hospital in a barely stable state, during a snow storm, with nowhere to go? It was a miracle he hadn't managed to kill himself in the time he was missing, whether it be from his critical injuries or hyperthermia. It was like he was trying to end up dead, like he was just going to leave everyone with only the memory of the spark of chaos, and yet, chystal clear logic that had brought rebellious fun into their lives. So what did it mean? That above all, he didn't care about any of them? That they were just an accepted part of his life, until one of his stupid actions finally ended it, and left them all with heartache? What was she? Someone to hold hands with, to flirt with, until he decided that everything in Shermer was so unbearable that he could just leave it all in a heartbeat and start over, even risking his life to do so?

Unfortunately, as mad as she was for suddenly being brought to realization that she wasn't as important to John as she thought, or worse yet, that he was constantly jeopardizing his health so that it seemed the battle for his life wasn't even halfway over, Clair really did love him. She felt stupid admitting it. She remembered watching her friends get all giddy over guy after guy, and had sworn she'd never become one of the idiots who was certain they were in love after only a couple months worth of relationship, but she really did. He wasn't like other guys she'd dated. He challenged her, made her stomach knot with worry, made her body paralyzed whenever his hand even gently brushed across it, and generally just had a light to him that she couldn't even imagine disappearing. A light that had somehow made things that seemed important, become so stupid, things that seemed foggy, seam so clear. She genuinely loved him, and she couldn't let someone she loved sit in the hospital alone, even if he didn't love her in the same way, and was willing to flee without her when she got the first chance.

So Clair took a deep breath and stood from the beige waiting room couch from circa 1950 (a decorative mistake that she couldn't help but notice). She needed to be there for him, but she wasn't going to do it without giving him a piece of her mind. She was a stronger version of herself, coincidentally, thanks to him, and she wasn't going to wait around hoping he didn't do something ignorant to kill himself anymore. If he was too fucking stubborn to listen to what the doctors were telling him, then she was going to make him.

As Clair got closer to John's room, she started to hear a tune that was faint, but undeniably the song "I've got you babe" by Sonny and Cher. It was sung in an obnoxious, squeaky voice that was boarder-line yelling and somehow managed to hit every key wrong. It was the voice of someone who was trying to fail at singing a song that already required no talent to sing, the voice of someone who didn't care that they were in the intensive care unit and that there were critically injured people trying to sleep, because being a complete asshole was too irresistible to this voice to ignore any temptations of being a pain in the ass. It was the voice of someone with a mind so fucked up they could even _think _about pulling such bullshit. It was the voice of John Bender.

Clair cocked her head to the left and stood paralyzed in disbelief for a moment before following the earsplitting tune as fast as she possibly could in her designer heeled boots. It would figure that the bizarre antics happening at the Shermer hospital that, of course, would have _everyone _talking, was once _again _a cause of her boyfriend's behavior. First he put the whole hospital under lock down, then he broke out into full on 1960's hippie music so loudly that it could be heard that the very top of the unit. She half considered wearing a hat and tinted glasses every time she went to visit him, just so nobody would be able to recognize her and link any of the weird happenings to her or her reputation.

Clair stood in the doorway of John's room in disbelief as she watched the man she had just admitted to loving, with both his hands bond to either side of the bed, head tilted backwards, singing with all the heart he had left after his tiring recovery, off pitch, and getting seventy percent of the lyrics wrong. Not that he seemed to notice. He sung as if he were Sonny himself, so into making the song as audible as possible with short breaths that he didn't even realize Clair was standing a foot away from him, completely stunned that he could come up with such a fucking stupid prank or whatever it was to him, and that _this _was the man she thought about marrying every night before she went to sleep. She loudly cleared her throat, trying her hardest to hide her shock in order to look as pissed off as effectively possible.

"Oh, hi Clair." John said before opening his mouth to sing again. He stopped however, before he could croak out any of the words, as Clair shouted his name, her eyes slightly wet, her cheeks almost tomato red, and her body slightly shaking with rage. In retrospect, his "clever and witty" plan to annoy the doctors into submission didn't seem so "clever and witty". He had, of course, assumed that once Clair found out he'd pulled this kind of shit, she would yell at him, call him immature, even tell him that she couldn't stand him and would then storm off to the cafeteria before returning in about an hour to sit at the foot of his bed to bitch about the girl's at school she didn't like while he pretended to listen. It was kind of their thing. However, this was different, and since he didn't think loudly rehearsing the pop love songs of the sixties was enough to send her to her boiling point, he figured something else had to be the problem.

"What?" He asked, his eyebrows slanted in annoyed confusion. He'd been practically comatose since his father beat the living fuck out of him, and considering this was the first time she'd actually conversed with him since then, he figured he couldn't have said something unfavorable about her weight or wardrobe under the influence of the heavy pain meds he was given, which, while he had to admit were probably the best part of his current situation, were not _so good _that he would just forget a visit with Clair. So then _what _could she possibly be so pissed about? She knew he was an asshole, she knew he was bound to spend ninety percent of his time at the hospital making the doctors lives miserable, after all, he wasn't that interested in the television and there wasn't much else he could do, so why did she look so shocked.

"What the hell do you think? God, this is completely insane! You know, I can't even believe you, why John, why can't you just do what the doctors want so you can get better? Tell me!" Clair shouted, frustrated tears no forming in the grooves of her tear-ducts. She legitimately missed when he was asleep ninety-five percent of the day, and she hated herself for it. At least, when he was unconscious, he put up no resistance. He didn't pull any of his stupid ass games and he was actually _improving _to the point where she honestly thought he would make a full recovery and be out of the hospital within a month. He was _making _himself worse, and the worst of it all was that he really didn't seem to care.

"They fucking restrained me." John explained, looking down at his binds as he spoke before finally looking up at her through a cocked head. None of the medical staff had listened to his number of complaints about the restraints, and ignored him when he promised to be a good boy and stay put like he was supposed to if they freed his hands, so he had resorted to the one thing he did best: being a pain in the ass. He had been singing all morning, and was confident that enough hospital guests and family members had complained about the noise to the point he was about to be given what he wanted, had Clair walked in.

"You tried to run away!" Clair reminded, completely flabbergasted that he would pull such a fucking stupid stunt over, what, a few days at the best of losing the function of his hands? Something he wouldn't even have noticed had he been resting like he was _supposed _to be doing. _This _was how he was going to show the doctors that they could trust him enough to do what he was supposed to do and to stay in his bed without the reinforcement of arm restraints as a kind of security measure to make _sure _his ass stayed put?

"And I came back." John said, suddenly feeling more light headed than usual. In fact, since his escape from the hospital grounds, he'd been feeling fifty percent more nauseous, short of breath, and dizzy. He pulled his hand up as far as his restraints would allow him, and rested his head in his palm, pinching his the bridge of his nose in between his eyes and trying hard to get his heart back to a what seemed like a normal rhythm, if he could even remember what that was anymore.

"That doesn't matter! You ran away! Do you _know _what could have happened to you? You could have died! And you don't even care. You know, it's like you don't even stop to think about all of us who love you. If you don't want to get better then I can't stop you but if you don't care then I don't see why we should," Clair snapped, choking back her tears before looking back up at him, "are you okay?" She asked, suddenly sympathetic as she cautiously walked closer. She froze when he shouted that he was fine, his irritation only proof that he wasn't, before continuing to his bedside and slowly lifting his head up.

"You are not fine, you're as white as a ghost." She answered, shaking her head and pressing the button to summon the nurse. Once again, he had managed to do something irrationally stupid and it had lead to further complications in his condition. The worst of it was she couldn't even be mad at him for making himself even more sick than he was, because she was the only one who was really there for moral support for him. Of course, everyone else _tried _but Allison's "people skills" only managed to slightly creep everyone out, while Andrew was mostly silent in his awkwardness, and seeing since John wasn't a big fan of either Nina or Brian, that left only Clair.

"If I say I'm fine, I'm fine." John said, giving a short threatening glare before clutching his chest and groaning. He grabbed his restraints tightly, wheezing as he swallowed gulps of air, his skin turning from a powdery white to a light blue, and yet somehow, through all of this, John was most concerned with the fact that this problem had to arise with Clair in the room. He'd had been feeling even more so under the weather than usual, but he assumed he had probably gotten the flu or something from sitting out in the snow for what was probably at least an hour.

Clair immediately darted to the door, practically tripping on the wiring of all the machines in the room, but regaining somewhat of a poster. She yelled for help and immediately the room was filled with men and women in white lab coats and scrubs. In only a minute, Clair found herself in the hallway, behind a locked door frantically trying to figure out what was going on.

* * *

"He's got pneumonia. It's a common complication of trauma patients, so there's no way to tell how exactly he ended up with it, but it's most likely that he contracted it from another patient when he was trying to escape. He probably had to go down a couple halls before he found one with an elevator." Nurse "anal fist", as John referred to him as, explained, noting the grinding of Clair's teeth and the furious blaze in her eyes, "this is probably a lot harder on him than he's letting show sweetheart. We get this a lot with abuse cases, they're so used to dealing with fear by acting out, that they put up resistance to all the medical care, and while John seems to be putting up extra resistance to the point that three other nurses have already put in their two weeks, and I really wish I were joking doll, I see it as a good thing. When these kids stop acting out, that's usually when they've given up. They usually don't last that long after that. However, due to the fact that his behavior is seriously dragging down his recovery, and because if we lose anymore nurses we'll be short staffed, the doctors have decided that he's not allowed to have any visitors for a week. Hopefully, if he doesn't feel he needs to put on some kind of show for people, he'll start making progress again. They're reintubating him in an hour. I talked them into letting you say goodbye before the procedure. Just remember what I told you." he said before carrying on with his rounds.

Clair took a deep breath, closing her eyes and holding the air in as if trying to stall. She felt ashamed of herself; she'd been so preoccupied blaming herself, worrying about what she was to him, and just being pissed at him for treating the whole situation like an annoying inconvenience, always seeming to take every bit of his condition lightly, that she hadn't even put into consideration how he felt. It had to have been surreal. The awkwardness, the frustration, the fear he would never dare express, whenever he felt any of those things, he pulled a prank on Vernon or was an ass to everyone around, making it impossible for them to pity anyone other than themselves. How had she missed him resorting to this particular defense mechanism when the awkwardness was enough to make him ignore them all, when the frustration had heightened ten folds, and when every second was either filled with fear of his uncertain future, or fear of even _having _a future?

Clair released the air, exhaling and seeming to make the scene that had paused continue on it's natural routine. She pushed off of the wall she was leaning on and slowly paced inside John's room, sheepishly asking for a moment alone with her boyfriend before finally gazing at him. He looked just as exhausted as he had the night the club had found him at the shop, and made no effort in looking over at her aside from slowly moving his eyes to the corner of their sockets. Though it was apparent that none of the doctors thought it wise to tell John what was going on, through the way the contemplated Clair's question as if they were afraid she'd reveal something to him and lead to more in-cooperation from their patient, she could tell John knew. They'd wasted no time putting a breathing mask on him, and had all discussed the next procedure in hushed voices. They were going to stick another fucking tube down his throat.

After exchanging looks to one another, as if possessing some supernatural ability to mentally communicate with one another, before coming to the unanimous yet silent decision to vacate the room. Once alone, Clair and John shared uneasy looks, before Clair finally cleared her throat and made the best attempt at explaining what the nurse had told her while sounding sophisticated and calm, just like she'd heard the doctors manage, in hopes that if she made it seem like no big deal, John would believe it wasn't and wouldn't feel the need to mask the heart thudding uncertainty that had lead to his notorious behavior throughout the hospital.

"No." John said sternly, his voice barely making it through the oxygen mask yet still maintaining power to it. While he assumed they would eventually reintubate him, and was considerably shocked that they hadn't already, considering his breathing hadn't been just below satisfactory the whole time he'd free of the binding tube that he'd already had the displeasure of having crammed down his esophagus, he never could have imagined he'd be punished with a week of no visitors. While he would never admit it to _anyone, _his crew being there was possibly the only the reason he fought everyday to make improvements in his health, minus, of course, a few stupid stunts that had sent him backwards. Had they not been there to force him to reinforce his "criminal" persona, to make him feel he had to seem tough and as strong as ever in front of them, then there would have been nothing to stop him from just giving in to his body's temptation to just shut down. It wasn't like he had any future to live for anymore, and the pain in all parts of his body, still as intense as the night _it _happened, seemed like it would never cease.

"Please don't do this. We'll be back in a week to see you and it's not like you'll be awake for most of the time anyways. I mean, they're going to sedate you, right?" She asked, sighing when she got John's complimentary "what are you smoking?" glare in return. It didn't matter that he wasn't going to be conscious, he fucking _needed _them. All his life people had constantly reminded him that he was alone, that with what he thought was the exception of Mark, nobody would care if he disappeared off the face of the planet, and with Mark not being at his side when he needed him the most, he realized he had literally been alone his whole miserable life, until he met the club, of course, and now they were just going to disappear for a whole week? Leave him inside the damned hospital room in the silence of his own solitude suffering?

"John, I need you to listen to me, okay," Clair asked, a certain boldness revealed in her shaky voice that had rarely poked its head before, "we all _need _you to get better. It is going to be really hard on _all _of us not to be allowed to come see you, but you made the whole world so different, like, I don't even know. Like things don't need to be such a struggle anymore, and if you go away, that whole world goes too, and none of us can go back to the way things were. We _need _you to get better. Will you please just do what the doctors say and get better?" Clair asked, tears strolling down her cheeks. She silently prayed that if she made him realize they _needed _the life that only he could provide for them, that once he was gone, the world would turn into a colorless act, that maybe he'd realize he wasn't alone, even when nobody was there.

"No." John said again, but this time with a charming and playful smile. Still, while this smile could have fooled anyone else, including Nina, Clair was suddenly able to see through it. Even though he was conscious, John Bender hadn't woken up from the accident yet. It was as if another entity had taken over his body, putting on the mask of a criminal and saying all the things it thought the John Bender before it would have said, and Clair wondered as she starred at the mimed smile if time would make everything okay enough for the real John to come back, or if the cocky, naturally sarcastic, charming John had died the night he'd been admitted into the hospital.

* * *

"My period is three weeks late." Allison stated, blankly, as she watched Andrew slurp down his fifth bowl of soup. She did a quick glance at the waitress, who was glarring over while whispering in her manager's ear. She had a feeling her boyfriend had just become the initial cause of "bottomless soup bowl Wednesday" being canceled at Best Pals diner, just like he'd single handedly put a stop to the endless refills at the Slush-hut. The boy ate more than a room full of pregnant women and their pet cow.

"Didn't you promise to keep your woman issues to yourself? At least when I'm eating." Andrew said, his disgust in woman's health actually making him lose his appetite for a moment, before he managed to shrug it off and take another whopping slurp of his soup. After all, if he could put up with the image of Larry Lester's werewolf ass in the back of his mind, along with personal disgust in what he'd done to those fuzz-cheeks, he could shake off anything Allison had to say about her body. Especially on bottomless soup bowl Wednesdays.

"It means I might be pregnant, Andrew." Allison dryly explained, saying his name with a particularly cold hearted sting to it. She didn't mean to be so frustrated with him, but sometimes his dumb jock cliche made her wonder how he was even academically eligible for sports at all. Not to mention, as wrong as she knew it was, if she was pregnant, she was holding him fully accountable. She had never really been particularly interested in sex, especially since it would require her being vulnerable and completely open with another human being, but he had swayed her decision by telling her he loved her, and now, it was very possible she had a child growing inside of her. She had finally managed to fit in with society, to have friends and hang out and do what normal teenagers did instead of just watching from the outside, imagining what it was like to belong, and in she was faced with the possibility of her new life going right back to the way it was. Worse, in fact, because before when she was invisible, at least she didn't have to worry much about people talking behind her back. No attention was definitely better than the negative attention of a swollen stomach the size of a whale and everyone else's ridicule.

Andrew's appetite was suddenly lost, this time for real. How was this even possible? They had only done it _once, _he couldn't have gotten her pregnant from only _one _night, it was too fucking unreal. What would his father think? Everything bit of respect Andrew had worked his whole life just to gain from his old man would be gone. His mother would probably go into some sort of nervous breakdown, and his image at Shermer High would be totally blown. And the club? Clair and Brian were definately the people to look down at a situation like his, and John would probably find it so amusing that he would just abandon all jock-jokes to focus more on "stupid teenaged dad" jokes. And Allison? What exactly did she want from him? For him to help her raise a _child? _To just forget being a teenager to become a family with her?

"It's been late before, a lot of times actually, but from a medical standpoint, it could be more than just a coincidence. I wanted to tell you before I found out for sure because I think you should have just as much time to think about things as I do. So you can decide what to do." Allison finally explained, changing her mood when she noticed the panic she'd sent over Andrew. Honestly, the possibility of it just being another case of irregular menstrual cycle was more plausible than her being pregnant, considering she'd lost five pounds and the fact that her period was never one time, but the slightest chance still made her hopelessly paranoid. She was probably making mountains out of mounds, but if there was any chance her worst fear was right, she didn't feel it right to hide from Andrew.

"What do you mean decide what to do? What is that, like a trap or something? How am I supposed to answer?" Andrew demanded, half in shock and half in genuine anger. He hated when girls played mind games. They always asked questions or made statements that had one specific expected response, but instead of even giving a hint as to what that response was, they would insist that the man come up with it all on his own, and if he didn't, all hell broke loose. It was like they purposely wanted to cause relationship drama by making the guy feel like an idiot because his response was "the wrong answer".

"You're not _supposed _to answer any specific way, Andy. Like I said, I told you so you'd have just as much time to decide what you're going to do as I will, just in case it is worst case scenario." Allison explained, starting to get annoyed. She had _thought _that with announcing to his dad that he was no longer going to live up to his expectations, that he was going to practice when he wanted and on his terms and that he wasn't going to tolerate his obsessive attitude with winning all the time anymore, that he had truly changed for good, but it was like his new-found balls had been detached when John was submitted into the hospital, and why wouldn't it? Andrew had grown a pair after watching how easily John was able to defy authority, but considering his disrespect for all elders had finally caught up to the criminal and almost killed him, Andrew was suddenly unsure. If he continued to idolize the way John thought for himself, the way he did whatever he wanted whenever, what was stopping him from fucking up his own life? Or worse, in this case, considering Allison and a child were involved?

"No! Tell me what you want me to do!" Andrew demanded, flamboyantly throwing his hands in the air and almost knocking down his coca-cola in the process. Allison was smarter, emotionally stronger, and for the most part, seemed calm about the situation, so why couldn't she just tell him what the best lead of action would be? Was he supposed to give up all his dreams and make an effort to grow up so he could raise a child before he was finished being one himself, or was he supposed to send her money, and call that it? After all, the thing all members of the breakfast club had in common is that their parents seriously fucked them up, and who was to say Andrew was any different from his own father? What if he ended up pushing his child to be the image of himself in school, or pushing him to succeed instead of just accepting who he was? What if he unintentionally ignored the kid, or only paid attention to it in order to use it as a device to get back at Allison when he was pissed at her? Most stomach churning of all, what if the stress piled up, layer after layer, until one day he lashed out and released his anger on the kid? All these things were unspeakable, but as Allison had once stated, "when you grow up, your heart dies" and having a child was like owning a one way ticket into adulthood.

"I don't want you to do anything, _Andrew, _just forget it." Allison said, gathering her things and lifting herself up. If Andrew wasn't even going to take into consideration what he was going to do before resorting to asking her for the answers, she wasn't going to look to him to help her raise a child if she even _was _pregnant. If she was going to be stuck taking care of a child through one stupid choice, then that was inevitable, after all, she wasn't about to stick her kid into a foster home after the whole system failed for herself, but she wasn't going to let the same stupid choice stick her taking care of two children. She wasn't going to make all the adult decisions for her boyfriend.

"No, you brought it up! Now I wanna know right now what you want from me and we're not leaving here until you tell me!" Andrew shouted as he shot up in his seat. All around them, people had stopped eating their meals and had frozen in stillness in order to blend in with the diner decor, as if any sudden movements and the couple would decide to have the conversation in a more private setting, and everyone else would miss out on the drama. Watching the two argue was probably the most entertaining part of their day, considering it was Shermer and the sudden snow had made the reception for all televisions to come out fuzzy. With Andrew and Allison, they didn't even have to get up and adjust the antenna.

"Fuck. You." Allison said dryly, her cheeks flustered and she grinded her jaw and spun around, leaving the diner and trying to hide the tears forming over her eyes.

* * *

**a/n: I finally got a new laptop! This chapter was extra long as compensation for how long it took to update. New drama coming up which will make for more interesting chapters :)**

**ghostwriter: i'm glad you liked it :) thanks you for the review!**

**helinahandcart: haha thank you for your review and your wednesday adams smile :) my laptop is better now, seeing as i got a new one, but my thumb is still healing...but at least now i can continue to update!**

**haleboppers: awee that's one of the most incredibly awesome (for lack of better words: it's six am) reviews i've ever gotten! thank you so much :)**

**pennyforyourthoughts: then it's settled, i must go to the ocean :) thank you for the review, i'm glad you liked the last chapter!  
**


	22. The nerd and the nurse

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the breakfast club

Brian slowly paced down the hospital halls, keeping his eyes alert and his heart beating hard, patting violently against his bony and pale chest. He had two objectives that day, the first, being that he check on John. While the doctors had made it very clear that there were to be no visitors in John's room for a whole week, they had said absolutely nothing about strolling past and peeking inside, which Brian had done four times that day. Every time he passed, he found the same thing; John dead asleep with a tube down his throat. Just like he was supposed to be. While mentally checking his first order of business off his list, Brian began tracking down his second target so that he could go about his next agenda.

It only took Brian a matter of minutes scout out Derrick, the male nurse with the "gay lisp". Without hesitation, Derrick smiled brightly. Even though he was now forced to take action in telling Brian that nobody was allowed in John's room, no exceptions. The fact that even after having to deal with John's bad side on a regular basis, and even though every one of John's regular visitors were still up at the hospital, everyday, strolling the halls until Derrick had to tell them to leave; even though he had to put up with all that, he never seemed annoyed, it was somewhat warming. In fact, he seemed _happy _every time he saw one John's friends, as if, even though he had to be the bad guy and tell them they had to go, it still brightened his day that they still made the same attempt without ever accepting defeat. This characteristic of Derrick made him just the type of person Brian liked being around.

"No, I know," Brian answered after being told, again, that he couldn't see John, "but, I, um, was just wondering if we could sit and talk. I mean I'd really like to know what's going on with him, if that's alright?" He asked, unable to stop his cheeks from turning a shade of pink that Clair would probably kill to have in her closet. In all honesty, he already _knew _from his daily rounds around the unit exactly what was going on with John. Just a lot of sleeping with a tube down his throat. Periodically, he'd be awake, looking towards the doorway with groggy eyes as if he half expected any of them to break in and kill the solitude, but other than that, his life had gone back to sedative, induced, uneventful dullness. However, expressing concern in John's daily actions seemed to be the only way Brian could initiate conversation with Derrick; it was a simple scheme that Brian had spent all day premeditating for.

"Awe, sure sweetheart, I was just about to take my lunch break. Let me just tell the receptionist and I'll be back in a wink." Derrick said, blatantly expressing his homosexuality without even a slightest veil to cover it up; yet another characteristic Brian found intriguing about him.

With his lanky body, curly blond hair with each strand gelled perfectly into place, and scrubs that _had _to have been purchased from the woman's section of whatever uniform store he had gone to, it was apparent that Derrick was the dorky kind of guy who'd gotten beat up a lot in high school, yet somehow, he was one of the happiest people Brian had ever come to meet. Brian was already somewhat withdrawn from everyone picking on him for being the school nerd, he couldn't even _imagine _being as carefree as Derrick was had he been as open about his sexuality as he was. Not to mention, the way the word "sweetheart" delicately slipped from his lips made the tiny blond hairs on Brian's back stand straight up as if the word alone had been flash of chilled air.

"There's not really much to tell you dollface. He's steadily improving and the sedatives keep him unconscious throughout most of the day. He's seemed a little bit in the pits lately, but considering everything he's recently gone through, that's really not out of the ordinary. Your friends going to be okay. He's very lucky to have true pals like you guys; normally when visitors are withheld from a patient the family will call up every few days to see how things are going, but he's got friends who care so much that every one of you are up here daily to make sure he's okay." Derrick explained as they walked to the hospital cafeteria.

"How's he been treating you? I mean, he hasn't, he hasn't said anything, you know, like demeaning or anything towards you or anything, right?" Brian asked, knowing that when Bender was feeling at his weakest, he would lock his eyes on what seemed like the easiest pray, and then would show no mercy, and Derrick happened to be the perfect target for his cherished feeling of control over the world. Derrick was, after all, openly homosexual, opening the door to a new _universe _of ill mannered jokes and comments, and the fact that he had the heads up of every complication with Bender's status, every thing that was happening between his father and himself, and further more, everything that _had _happened, meant that he just naturally pissed John off, so much that he would unleash all his misdirected rage onto him.

"He calls me nurse anal fist." Derrick said casually yet matter-of-factly, without skipping a beat or even looking up from his lime yogurt. He then laughed warmly when Brian flashed him the true look of horror. Brian had assumed that John's dangerously creative mind had come up with something demented to say or even chant whenever Derrick entered the room, but he didn't think he was going to be _that _vulgar. After all, the worst Brian had gotten was "homeboy", hell, Andrew and John had gone at it practically nonstop the day they met, and had still landed the harmless nickname "sporto". It made Brian wonder; if Bender had found out that he was gay before they really got to know each other, would he be just as hateful towards him as he was to Derrick? He knew one thing, if it had come to that, Brian wouldn't have been as strong about it as Derrick was being.

"How do you seem so happy about it?" Brian asked, shifting uncomfortably. All his life he had kids picking on him for being the school geek, but that was fine with him, because he got something out of being the school geek. His grades were exponential, with the exception of shop, and he was proud of his accomplishments. He didn't care if kids called him a dweeb because he knew all he had to do was put up with it through high school and then eventually, when he entered the real world, after much ladder climbing, ass kissing, and bottom work, he would eventually find himself on top. However, how would he put up with kids calling him the school queer? Being gay would never offer a more promising future like being intellectual did. He had no compensation for the horrible names he would be called, and wouldn't be able to be as joyful about it as Derrick was.

"Brian," Derrick said with his homely laugh, "John's case really isn't new. If he needs to make someone seem worse off than he is to get through this, then in a strange way, I don't mind being that person. He needs an outlet, and after all, I wanted to be a nurse to help people. I feel like I'm helping him." He answered, while in the dark depth of his heart, he wondered what his father would think to not only discover that his son had become a nurse, which in his father's eyes was a "woman's job", but also that his main form of helping out was providing a punching bag to trauma patients with sketchy backgrounds and extraordinary histories. Brian, of course, noticed the slight distant look of Derrick, but never questioned it as he was far too inquisitive about his open sexuality to notice that, for a moment, something was bugging Derrick.

"No, I mean, how, how do you put up with other people doing it? People you're not trying to help? I mean, it's like, you can't really be happy, you know, you can't be happy when people are making fun of you just because they think it's funny." Brian explained, swallowing hard and revealing why he sought out the conversation to begin with. He wasn't concerned with John making fun of him, since he considered John a friend, but he wasn't going to be able to keep his sexuality a secret forever. It was frustrating having such an energy sucking secret that he couldn't share with anyone, except John, who had found out by accident. It was hard having to do a discussion on a made up girl he had a crush on during his Latin club meetings, and worst yet, it as irritating as hell having to pretend to be someone that he wasn't in front of his parents.

"I knew it. Brian, there's always going to be a few other people out there who think little of you, and they will pinpoint your biggest weakness just to drag you down. It doesn't matter if you're Kevin Bacon or if you're Elton John. If it's not your sexuality, it'll be something, so it really doesn't bother me. I mean, they're making fun of me because I'm gay, but they probably have someone who make fun of them because they're not as smart as other people, or they're overweight, or have a big nose, or worse, a small penis. Take John, he refuses to acknowledge me by any other name other than nurse anal fist, and made inappropriate comments about me being used to white stuff all over my face, but then he's got people like his father always telling him he's worthless. So when I look at things that way, it's not like I'm the victim, it's like everyone's in it together. So, to feel better, all you have to do is picture them in the same state you are in, and have a really big penis. Like I do. Trust me, it really does help." Derrick explained, fully grabbing Brian's attention.

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense, I mean the, I mean the everyone being a victim part. It makes sense," Brian said, shifting awkwardly again before continuing, "How, um, how'd you tell your parents? I mean, they know right?" he asked, listening closely as if Derrick were some kind of Jedi master about to share the very secret of life. He could deal with not having anyone to talk about his feelings with, or using ancient languages to describe a fake girl he supposedly loved, at least for another year, but he couldn't _stand _his parents seeing a Brian Johnson that was only a fabrication of their own imaginations stand before them. If he couldn't get them to accept that he'd gotten an F, followed by a detention that _should _have been an expulsion had Carl not been there to defend him, how was he going to tell them that he was never going to produce grandchildren, that most of society would look down on him, that he'd be shunned by the church society, and that he wasn't their perfect son?

"I just got fed up and told them one day. I didn't want to pretend to be someone that I'm not anymore, and we all knew what I was, even though everyone just pretended they didn't notice. I finally just told them that I'm gay, that's the way it is, it's the way it's going to be, and that I'm not changing or pretending that I don't realize I want to tear off Patrick Swayze's clothes." Derrick explained, spacing out as he thought about the actors tough character in The Outsiders.

"and they were fine with that?" Brian asked, amazed by how easy it had been for Derrick. He would never have the guts to just tell his parents off. To explain to them that he was who he was and he wasn't going to change, and demand that they accept that. Not without a lot of stammering, sweating, and possible fainting at the very least. And that would all be in the starter conversation that he planned to make lead _up _to the him being gay part, seeing as he could never just randomly admit to his homosexuality like his mentor could.

"No. My dad told me to get out of his house and not to come back until I was ready to stop being such a pussy. I haven't seen him since," Derrick explained, giggling at Brian's horrified demeanor, "but that doesn't mean that's the way it is with everyone's parents. Some are actually very accepting, and I really don't regret it. Yeah, I miss my dad, and it broke my heart, but not as much as it broke my heart to live up to something I could never be, like I was trying to live the life of someone else. I like guys, and I'm only going to be happy when I'm happy with that fact." he explained, passing half of his bologna sandwich to Brian.

* * *

"Make sure you set your homework out for your father to check when you're done with the dishes." Mrs. Johnson ordered, picking up Brian's half conscious little sister and carrying her to her bedroom. It almost made Brian sick that he was so jealous of a little girl. Sheri had only just turned six, but she was already head of her kindergarten class. They were even talking about having her skip the first grade completely, leaping right to the second. Sheri was naturally smart. Sheri could probably take any class she wanted and not end up patronizing a class with the misleading idea that it was a cake class, and ending up with an F. Sheri would never get an F. Sheri would also not be drilled by their mom and dad for never bringing home a significant other. Brian couldn't even pretend that he had a lot of friends, that he was popular, that everyone at school thought he was the smartest kid and never teased him like he had when he was younger. It was obvious by his presence at home every night that this was a huge lie. Sheri, on the other hand, was a favorite in her classroom. The other kids loved her. Sheri was confident and smart. Sheri probably wouldn't have a problem telling their parents if she was gay; though, and yet another reason for Brian to be jealous of her, it was already clear that she wasn't.

Brian sighed, dried his hands out, and set his homework out on the table to be inspected. He had been put on probation. He was now to have all homework assignments checked over, at least until he brought his grades back up. It wasn't fair that he was in all honors classes, yet was being treated like a child for one F. It wasn't fair that his parents practically worshiped Sheri, then constantly put pressure on Brian to succeed and do better. One thing was for sure, John's interpretation of his home life, with the overly happy parents and the boat, couldn't be more off.

Being reminded of this act, however, made Brian remember John's parents and why he felt inclined to mock Brian's home-life. Brian's parents were always pushing him to succeed. He could only make them happy with straight A's, high SAT scores, and scholarships, and even then, they constantly dogged him for not having friends. To John, however, parents like that, who cared about Brian's future, who wanted him to do good, who _fed _him and refrained from beating his skull in, were amazing parents. Brian could complain about his own parents all he wanted, but he could never say he had it worse than John, who somehow had gained the courage to at least try and fight back against his dad, to pull himself out of the house instead of giving up, to stand up for himself. If John could do that, then why couldn't he just tell his parents that he was gay?

"I need to talk to you two, it's kind of important," Brian said as he paced into the family room where his parents were watching "The Price is Right". He swallowed hard and swayed back and fourth on his feet as the cable box was turned down, opening his mouth to speak but then closing it again. His heart beat so fast that it felt as if it had broken out of his chest cavity and climbed up his esophagus, beating furiously enough to choke Brian. This was the moment, and if he regretted it, he could never go back and un-tell them. This was the moment their views on him would change forever, and all Brian could do was hope that it wouldn't be a bad thing when they did.

"Well, spit it out son," Brian's dad insisted impatiently, then, pulling his glasses down and peaking over the rims with suspicion in his eyes, added "are you on dope?" it was, after all, a suitable explanation for Brian's recent behavior. For his failing a class. For his getting a detention. For his stupid act of bringing a gun to school that _lead _to the detention, and the group of kids he'd been seen with on occasion after the detention. All clues seemed to point towards drugs, something that wasn't going to be tolerated in the Johnson household.

"What? No, pops, I _never _did drugs, honestly!" Brian exclaimed, horrified at the thought that his father would ever conclude he smoked marijuana (excluding the one incident he actually _had _smoked marijuana, of course). What horrified him more, is the punishment he would receive if his father didn't believe him. What was he going to have to do? Would he have a curfew of five pm? Have to piss in a cup every night after dinner so his father could check his urine for drugs? of course, all of these punishments were still better than what Mr. Bender had dished out, and John still found strength...

"Well, then, spit it out son!" Mr. Johnson exclaimed, sitting back in his seat but still keeping a straight composure. His business like position made Brian feel small, as if he should bow down to his father or something. As if he was smaller. He wondered if his dad used this technique in the office to the lesser employees-what was he wondering for? Of _course _he did. He was so good at it, after all.

"I"m, umm, well, it's like this. I...I'm...I'm gay." Brian said, choking on the words. His face was beating red and he was sweating enough to make it rain over was a nervous twitching in the ligaments of his fingers and his spindly, lanky legs trembled even more so than usual, almost folding from under him and bringing him down to the floor. He swallowed hard and watched the room spin as his temperature rose to a degree that could boil water, while both his parents shouted blurred words that were either inaudible because they were both screaming at the same time, or because he was dizzy and the whole world looked as it would had he been under the influence of some heavy drugs.

"This is their influence, isn't it? Those little brats with their rock and roll and drugs and alcohol, they're the ones confusing you!" Mr. Johnson shouted, his voice transitioning into words once Mrs. Johnson finally decided to shut her own mouth. To this, Brian exchanged a genuinely confused look. To whom was he referring? No amount of rock, drugs, or alcohol could lead to Brian preferring sausage, not to mention, Brian didn't hang around anyone let alone any "little brats", unless, of course, he was referring to...

"I've had it! You're not seeing those hooligans anymore!" Mr. Johnson raged, repeating himself when Brian opened his mouth to protest. He was going to be damned if any of his children was gay. He'd graduated from Yale, dammit, and he wasn't about to let all his accomplishments in life be down-shined by a queer son, which would be considered a mistake on his part. People would doubt his intelligence; how could they be viewed as the perfect family if they had somehow screwed up raising their only son? No, it wasn't an option, Mr. Johnson had an outstanding career, an outstanding wife, and an outstanding daughter. There was no way he was going to let his son be the pimple in his outstanding life. He was going to learn to reach potentials that would land him in Yale just like his father, and he was going to do it without being a disgrace.

"But, with all do respect sir, that's not going to fix the fact that I'm," Brian started, trying his best to be as polite as possible so he wouldn't further anger his father, who's yelling made him feel like a tiny six year old boy as he shrunk in his light blue sweater.

"Well then you figure out a way to fix it, Mister!" His mother shouted, pitching her famous line. Every time Brian did something wrong, his parents came up with some absurd way to correct things, ways that seemed good in theory but were not logical by real life standards, and whenever he tried explaining this to them, his mother would always tell him to figure out a way to correct the situation. As if life was like a math equation, and every problem had a solution. That if he just sat up all night with a pencil and a piece of paper, he'd eventually be able to fix the F he'd received, fix the detention he'd gotten, create a way to study during that detention to use it to it's greatest advantage, to fix the fact that he had been born irreversibly gay...

"Yes Ma'am." Brian muttered, still trying to be as polite as possible, before scurrying to his room. Once there, however, his demeanor changed. How dare his parents do anything but accept who he was. He might not have been as naturally smart as Sheri, but he did try very hard in school, and had even skipped two grades. He had gotten straight A's up until shop, and was a sure thing for Yale (thanks to Carl, who had prevented the flare gun incident from ending up on his permanent record). He did everything he could to please the two of them, but somehow that didn't matter, and why, because he was gay? Because he wasn't going to marry a girl? Because he found love in another gender? Now, because of that, he wasn't good enough? Was he ever good enough? His cousin Kendal got more respect from his parents, and he had experimented with every drug on the planet _and _was found unconscious with his dick in the blender a month back, yet even _he, _his mother's sister's weird ass son, somehow even impressed his parents more than he did, no matter how much he tried to succeed.

That was definitely it. Brian had tried hard enough, and now, he wasn't putting up with it anymore. John had ran away from his home, technically, so why couldn't he do the same? He definitely considered himself smarter than John. He had the credentials to get a better job than John. The fact that he didn't instantly piss everyone off upon first encounter was also an advantage he had over John, so if John could do it, why couldn't he? He'd run away, and then his stupid parents wouldn't have to worry about not being able to post his report card on the fridge to show off to company, because it had been tainted with one F. They wouldn't have to worry about coming up with an excuse as to why he missed monopoly Saturday with the Smith's next door, because they were too embarrassed to admit he'd gotten a detention. They wouldn't have to try to fix who he was and mold it into their perfect straight A, straight gendered son. They could concentrate on raising Sheri, she was probably the blessing they had always hoped for anyways. She was going to get into Yale and make them proud no problem, with no bumps along the way. They could just forget about him and quit pressuring his life.

Butt where would he go? John was no longer living at home, he could always propose they get a place together, but he didn't think he'd go for that after their non-consensual kiss in the computer lab, and the closest of his family lived in Indiana, not that it mattered. If he went with his family he'd be sent home anyways. So who could he stay with?

Then it hit him; Derrick. Derrick had to have been flirting with him, right? He'd been so nice, he'd spent his lunch break with Brian, he'd smiled that big ear to ear grin, he'd bragged about his...member. Those had to be signs that he was as into Brian as Brian was with him. It would be perfect. They'd profess their love and get a small place together. Brian would get a job, maybe even at the hospital doing janitorial work or something, and they'd both pay the bills and it would be as if they were spouses. They'd never fight, since Brian was convinced that it was impossible for Derrick to get mad at anything, and they wouldn't have to worry about fucking their kids up as much as everyone in the breakfast club's parents had, because they were unable to have kids (not that this bothered Brian. He was way too nervous and jumpy to ever even think of trying to take care of a child, especially if he would have to converse with it. It was hard enough talking to people who weren't young and impressionable, let along something that hung on his every word.)

Brian ran to his book shelf, and in between his two encyclopedia sets, pulled out the Shermer phone book. Derrick's entry wasn't that hard to find, not surprisingly, as there really wasn't that high a chance of there being two "Derick Goodlove"'s in all of Illinois. As Brian ripped out the entry and folded it, slipping it into his coat pocket and making a very clumsy, almost unsuccessful escape out the window, he wondered what kind of awful one lines Bender had thrown at Derrick for his last name, which he wore proudly on his RN badge every night he'd been there. He couldn't even imagine the torment he had to have gone through for that one...

* * *

**a/n: I have not deserted this fanfic as many of you probably believe. However, my neighbor, whether be it by chance or be it because they found out their internet was being stolen, moved their rotor somewhere that I couldn't get signals from. I know. Bitches. Luckily, today, either someone new moved into my condo complex or someone got new internet service, either way, there is unprotected netgear for me to take and I am connected once more :)**

**emerald penguin: Now you have to worry about Brian, Andrew and Allison, and John :) I'm very mean to my characters.../John Hugh's characters actually. Thank you so much for the review I'm glad you liked the last edition! **

**Ghost writer: Haha I know, but I figured since Allison wasn't used to being social with people, it would make more sense for her to screw up telling him by completely dropping it on him like Hiroshima. I actually wrote it first where she handles it better, but it seemed too out of character. Anyyywayys, thank you for the review! I always look forward to them :)**

**Haleboppers: haha thanks for both your reviews, they really made me smile :) Haha yupp, and now I've got new internet to go with my new laptop :) glad you liked the last chapter!**

**Dorian: Oh yeah lol IDK what I was thinking, I usually type these up at like 6 am so that might have something to do with it lol but in the future i'll begin proofreading these...starting with the next chapter lol. The sad thing is I use epiphany (in it's correct context) like almost everyday lol so that would be the word i type up. anyways, thanks for your review, made me smile :) I promise, i have no intentions of making this a teenaged pregnancy fiction, no worries :) this is mainly about John anyways **

**pennyforyourthoughts on her snoring friends account: haha i'm still here! i was just without internet, and i don't really trust library computers. call me paranoid haha. anyywayys, i'm glad you and your snoring friend enjoyed the last chapter :) thanks for the review!**

**lil pink pixie: awee thank you so much for the review and the kind words, they made me smile like an idiot lol :) I'm so glad you like the story, thank you so much for the review!  
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	23. The chiming bells

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to these characters or The Breakfast Club.

"You're not allowed to see him yet Andrew." Derrick said with a sigh, not even bothering to look up from his patient logs. By this point, he could identify John's usual visitors without even a glance. The prestigious clicking of Clair's heels, Allison's somewhat off beat mix of femininity and masculinity with every footstep, the almost ghostly steps of Brian's light feet, and of course, the meaningful strides of Andrew's sneakers. He could have sworn that, being suspended from John's room, he'd seen just as much of his friends, if not more, than when they had full visiting rights.

Not that he held disdain towards any of them for caring enough about their friend to make an effort, even an often failed one, just to visit him. In all honesty, it actually gave him hope in the world. John Bender was probably the only domestic abuse case that didn't have Derrick's heart crying out at the end of every shift, because John had people who would stick by his side and help him recover. He loved the fact that they were so committed to him as friends, but he was growing increasingly weary of the insanity of them trying the same thing over and over, even though they always got the same results, and he was definitely sick of always having to be the one to tell them that they couldn't see their friend, couldn't visit the person they almost watched die, turn them away, and repeat it the next day.

"No man, I understand. I was actually wondering if I can visit Mark?" Andrew asked, a feeling of shame and guilt washing over him when Derrick's face morphed into that of shock. The resident nurse for the unit, who was there almost every day of the week, shouldn't have been surprised to hear that any of them wanted to visit with him. It wasn't right. Mark might not have been as close to any of them as they were to John, but he'd still met at least two of the crowd, and the fact that Andrew had been at that hospital day in and day out and hadn't made time to visit him for even a fraction of a moment made him feel sick with shame.

"Of course you can Andrew." Derrick said with an enchanted smile. He was, pun excused, gay with delight that, just when he'd thought the group of kids couldn't impress him anymore, one of them grew even further as a person, and faced the elephant in the gurney that the rest just pretended didn't exist, because they didn't know how to deal with it. Derrick had seen a lot of soul crushing things since he'd started working at that particular unit, but when someone gave him hope like that, it helped him scrub up for another day.

"Hey man. I don't know if you can hear me…look, I'm sorry I haven't visited. Everything's been so tough. John's making himself worse, and we can't-I mean, we haven't even been able to tell him about you. He keeps asking though, every day that kid asks where you are." Andrew rambled, not really sure what to say to a kid who may or may not even have heard a single word he had said. Even though Mark was lying right there, just a foot away, it felt like Andrew was talking to himself and that scared him.

"Look, why'd you have to do something so stupid? What about all of us man? What about the people who cared about you? Dammit. I'm too young to be able to deal with you like this, and I'm too god damn young to be dealing with all this shit with Bender." Andrew said, his face red and his eyes watering. _and I'm too young to be deal with being a dad. _He thought, smearing the salty tears with his sleeve.

"Sorry," He said, taking a deep breath and calming down, "I didn't come here to explode on you, it's just so hard, you know? All of this fucking shit and…and Allison might be pregnant. I'm a total wreck man. None of my friends are talking to me much, the two of you are in the hospital, and now I might be a dad, and I can't handle that. Meanwhile, my god damned old man keeps riding my ass about competing. It's like he's completely oblivious to everything that's happening, and I know he's going to have a heart attack when I tell him about Allison, after he kills me. I can't deal with any of this anymore, and I can't even talk to anyone about it, because the friends I've got left are either in the hospital, not speaking to me, or too busy worrying about John." Andrew rambled, his fist curled and shaking.

He'd spent months pretending like he was okay, like he was adjusting to everything, handling it like the champion he was. When his father had lost his job, he'd comforted his mother. When he'd gotten his first ever detention, he'd succeeded in hiding his shame, even if he couldn't hide the humiliation and guilt he had for the _reason _he'd gotten the detention. When his parents moved him next door to the Bender residence, though he had nothing but disgust for their decision, he had been compliant and non-arguable. He'd done his best to be John's friend. More than John's friend; he tried his best to take care of him, practically treating him like a younger brother every single time he got beaten or smashed, even though Andrew was not emotionally able to help someone in that kind of position. Most astounding to him, he'd managed being the most collected person when they 'd found John only half alive. Andrew Clark had been through so much shit the past few months, and he'd handled every single event without a single fucking complaint, or break down, and without any reckless behavior. He'd handled everything like an adult, even though he _wasn't _an adult, and because of that, nobody had ever stopped to make sure he was okay with everything, and he wasn't.

Andrew Clark wasn't and never had been ready to change his whole life style, he hadn't been ready to help a friend in a position he knew nothing about, or to deal with the possibility of death. He was only seventeen. All of the things the months had delivered to him, he'd somehow dealt with without any guidance or emotional help, and he'd done a pretty damn good job, but not anymore. Allison being pregnant was the icing on the cake. He couldn't handle another fucking curve ball from life, he couldn't handle being a dad, and because he couldn't handle his latest struggle, it made it all the more difficult to deal with everything else he'd been handling. He half considered taking a lesson from Mark and popping enough pills to put _himself _in a coma, just to get away from all the stress.

"You probably know a thing or two about getting thrown a situation you can't handle, don't you man." Andrew said gently. He had barely handled the possibility that John might have died, but he'd only known him for a couple of months. Mark had been his friend since they were little. Andrew couldn't even imagine being practically blood brother's with someone all through childhood, then hearing word that they were laying essentially dead at some automobile shop. It must have been unreal.

Suddenly, if it was possible, Andrew felt even guiltier for not stopping by his room for all that time. A part of him had been mad at Mark. He'd already been having a hard time with all the new stress, all the things that a kid his age shouldn't have had to deal with, and there he went, just adding another problem and more stress. He'd never stopped to think that maybe Mark had just handled too much and broken down, something Andrew was becoming an expert on.

But Andrew wasn't going to end up like him, a vegetable in some hospital bed. He decided that right there. Mark had reached the same breaking point as Andrew, and had done something stupid as a result, but Andrew was going to take it and learn from it, instead of adding it to the list of stress factors. He wasn't going to let all his current problems take over his life, no matter how plentiful they were. He wasn't going to let them drive him into doing something stupid, just because he didn't know if he could handle it. He was going to learn from Mark's mistake, and instead of letting the stress beat him, he was going to beat the stress. He was going to take it, and turn it into a positive, and he was going to succeed, because that's what Andrew Clark did.

Andrew decided that he was going to stop seeing his father losing his job and forcing them to move as the pit in his life, and instead, he was going to see it as the thing that had eventually led to him staying friends with the breakfast club, the _whole _breakfast club, which he probably wouldn't have done if he hadn't been forced to live next one of them. He wasn't going to see having a friend who was abused at home as something that he was under qualified to help with, a problem that was way above him, and instead see it as something he'd stayed strong through, that was over now, and had taught him that he could be a good friend. Same with two of his best friends being in the hospital, it was just showing him how strong he was, and he was going to remain confident that the both of them would come out of it untouched.

That just left Allison. His latest problem. He needed to stop seeing it as the current problem at hand, the current thing that threatened to break him down, _the final straw_, and he was going to start seeing it as possibility. Nobody's life ever ended just because they had a kid, it just changed. His was going to change, but he was going to make the best of it, and not let it eat him alive. He was going to take it as an opportunity and make it just another success in life, but how?

Andrew's hopeful smile turned into a full out grin. He knew exactly what he was going to do. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before, not only was it the answer to the problem with Allison, but actually thinking about, he felt happy, even excited.

"I gotta go man! I'll visit tomorrow, I promise!" Andrew said, scurrying from the room so fast that he slipped on the hospital's waxed floors. He threw himself back up, and ran faster than he ever had, even with all the years he'd done track.

* * *

"Allison!"

Andrew, his face red and his palms sweaty, bolted up the parking lot and to Allison, who was sitting on a park bench watching the sunset. He sucked in the algid air, maintaining his smile even as the wind he forced in bit hard at the back of his throat, like ping pong balls being thrown at his open mouth. He ran as fast as he could, not being able to wait to tell Allison what he had to say for even a second longer.

By the time he reached her, he was panting so hard that his words came out as nothing but muffled sharp coughs.

"Look Andy, before you say anything," Allison started, but was cut off. Andrew was too elated to have the patience necessary for her to say anything before he got the chance to.

"Allison, I'm sorry. I was a real asshole. I talked to Mark today, and he made everything so clear," Andrew started, pulling himself up straight and taking a moment to look at the girl who'd challenged him, who'd brought something new to his routine life, who he'd almost lost, and who he was never going to lose again.

"Andrew, Mark's in a coma." Allison reminded, subtly checking Andrew for any sign that he was on drugs. Her best guess was hallucinogens, though, if that had been what he'd taken, he would have been tripping out more than just thinking he'd spoken to a vegetable. Maybe he was just going crazy? _Wonderful. _

"Allison, marry me." Andrew said with a prideful grin, pulling her in to kiss her. His face instantly twisted into confusion when she pushed him off her, her jaw grinding, and her eyes wild. She was upset? About _what? _She wanted him to think for himself, to decide what was best for them without asking her, and he'd done just that. Not only had he done that, he'd accepted the responsibilities of his mistake, and was even willing to turn it into an opportunity to start a family. How could she be upset?

"Andy…God, _why _didn't you let me go first? I'm not pregnant. I was just late. I went to the doctors today." Allison explained. She hated herself for even saying anything to him to begin with. Starting problems before there even was any, because she hadn't just waited until she was sure, she'd started an argument, and created an awkward situation before they were back on good terms.

Relationships were harder than Allison had ever thought.

"What?" Andrew asked, his spirits sunken. What had just happened? He'd had an epiphany; he'd realize that the solution to his problems was to turn them positive. He'd turned his most recent problem positive and…the problem _and _the solution just vanished? He couldn't help but feel let down.

If Allison had told him just an hour before that she wasn't really pregnant, he would have been ecstatic, but now was different. Now he had a solution that he was actually excited for, his life had seemed to brighten, and a place in his heart that he hadn't realized was empty seemed to fill, and…it was nothing but a mistake.

So it was just another disappointment in Andrew's recent life. Another thing to get upset about, another thing he'd pretend he was okay or even happy about, once again, not telling anyone how bothered he actually was. He'd planned to be a _father _and a _husband. _Two people were going to be proud of him every day, not because he made a touchdown, or a basket, or beat his time, or won a match, but just because he was alive and there for them, and now…it was gone.

"Marry me." Andrew asked, this time, not with an excited, hopeful grin, but with desperation. He had been inches away from getting what he'd wanted his whole life, someone who loved him and who was proud of him without having to push him, without him having to constantly work to maintain that pride. It was unconditional, and he wanted it forever.

"Are you crazy?" Allison asked, her jaw tightening, shifting to the side and leaving her mouth open, a totally un-feminine and slightly bizarre habit she had the tendency of doing whenever someone actually managed to say something that astounded or disquieted her. A habit that most people thought fit right in with her weird and alienating personality, and a habit that Andrew couldn't help but find cute, in a completely unorthodox kind of way.

"Yes. Marry me." He said again, almost demanding, yet almost pleading at the same time. The past few weeks, Allison was the only good thing to happen to him. She was the only thing that felt so comfortably normal, even though she was so extraordinarily abnormal. She made him feel like his life was put back the way it was supposed to be, like she could take all the shit that his life had recently taken on, and she could make it right again. He was almost positive he wouldn't have been able to get through all the sharp turns his life had taken had she not been there, to love him, to be proud of him, and to remain strong through everything, so he could do the same.

Allison still hadn't answered. She kept her eyes locked on him, the disturbed expression still planted on her face. Her silence was killing him, he could feel his heart beat faster than it ever had, faster than when he was on the mat, faster than when he was training with his dad, faster than when he'd found his most recent best friend covered in his own blood.

"Go home and go to sleep." Allison ordered, hugging him before leaving him, trying to sound strong as unexplainable tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Andrew wasn't acting right, he was acting psychotic, and she was scared for him. Of course, she'd figured it was probably hard for him, adjusting to a new home, to new friends, to a new type of girlfriend, to the problems his new friends and new girlfriend introduced into his once considerably normal life, but she never thought he'd break from it.

It was like he'd snapped. Of course, proposing to her, while completely irrational and impulsive, wasn't the worst reaction Andrew could have had to everything that was going on, but it wasn't what she could normally expect from him. While, subconsciously, she knew he couldn't have been accepting everything as well as he seemed, she'd hoped so much that he had been, that it seemed true.

She cared about Andrew, he saw through all the bizarre shit that made up who she was, no, he didn't see through it, he saw everything, every bizarre piece of who she was, and he actually liked her for it. He'd given her the gift of being noticed, of being loved, and for who she was, and she loved him for it. It hurt her more than she was able to imagine, when she was still ignorant to love, watching someone she loved having a hard time dealing with things, and not being able to help him. All of the other kids who talked to her psychologist, with life altering events that had changed who they were completely, that had broken them down, Andrew was becoming them, he was becoming her. He was being handed more than he could bite off, and if she couldn't help him, if he didn't find the support he needed, he was going to lose himself.

The problem was, Allison didn't know how to help herself, let alone Andrew.

* * *

**A/N: I bet you all thought I abandoned this story. Well, funny story about that, that I'm going to share with you, because it is four am and I have no life. After hacking into my mom's computer (because I broke mine after injuring my thumb, which, by the way, took over half a year to heal) to upload the last chapter, I got in trouble with my step dad, and he put a password on it. After buying a new computer, the neighbor I steal wi fi from did something and I lost connection for a while. After she corrected the problem, I diligently got to work on this story, and typed up the next SIX chapters that only needed minor tweeks and a few unfinished paragraphs in each chapter to be worked on. Then, my *new* computer decided to restart on me. Because autosave sucks, it only saved one of the many files I had open. What are the odds that it would save the one file I didn't really need? Obviously, pretty fucking good. I lost motivation to work on this for a while after all the work I had spent just vanished, so I refurbished another old TBC fanfic, before finally having the motivation to return to this one. So, not abandoned, just shunned for a little bit. **

**It seems fate is against me finishing this story. I'm going to beat fate. **

**Anyways, I thought I'd focus on Andrew this chapter. I don't normally write in the same format as most people, leaving a chapter to each character so they all have their even share, but John can share some of the spotlight here :) Also, I realize Andrew makes a point of deciding he's not going to fall apart and do something stupid like Mark...and then falls apart and does something stupid like Mark. I did that intentionally. I also intentionally brought up John a lot in this chapter, not as much as others (obviously) but enough that he is in this chapter without being in this chapter. Andrew is feeling that he has no one to help him with his stress, because everyone is concerned with John's larger problems, so I kind of wanted to mention him a lot so even when Andrew's trying to solve his own problems, he can't without John's problems still being there, just making him more crazy. **

**Emerald Penguin: I'm glad you like Derrick :) I kind of modeled him off of someone I know, and I like that person very much :) Thank you for the review!**

**Ghostwriter: Yeah, I know what line you're talking about. I think I heard that they explained how John had seen Allison before, but then that scene got deleted and all the deleted scenes from this movie have never been released. Anyways, glad you like it, thanks for the review!**

**Haleboppers: haha, well, I couldn't leave Brian out of all the fun as everyone's worlds kind of crash :) (don't worry, I'll build them up stronger than ever again :) ) and I am so glad to hear that you were so excited for the last chapter! Sorry for another long wait, and thank you so much for your review!**

**almosthonest: Awe, thank you so much! your review meant a lot to me!**

**Sparks Diamond: I'm glad my last chapter intrigued you :) I just hope you liked this one just as much. Thank you for the review!**

**ThisHeartItBeatsForOnlyU: Haha, he'll be out soon! I actually had him back to normal physical health before...my computer decided to be a jerk. Thanks for the review, I'm glad you liked it! **


	24. The tears

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Breakfast Club.

* * *

Brian Johnson was ashamed of himself.

No big surprise, he usually was, especially as of lately. With never being able to impress his parents, no matter how well he did academically or how many clubs he joined, there had always been a secret shame that hung over his head. It didn't just stop with his inability to impress his parents. He was ashamed of his social status at school. He was king nerd, a dweeb, an embarrassment to be seen with by anyone who wasn't a fellow nerd. He would never have a date to any school dance, or bring someone home to meet his parents. Most shameful of all, he was a virgin.

And of course, there were recent events to take into consideration, things that raised his shame exponentially. He'd gotten an F. He already couldn't impress his parents despite his greatest efforts, and that little red F had made the impossible even more insurmountable. At least before, when the jocks would laugh at him, and the pretty girls at school would ignore him, he'd be able to find comfort in the fact that he was going to be someone in the future. But with an F…

Not to mention, the whole flare gun incident, which spoke for itself, getting that one detention, which gave him a lifetime's probation at home, getting high, becoming friends with a group of kids that his parents turned their noses to, and, of course, the whole issue with his sexuality, Brian had more shame than Nixon. Yet, through everything, He had never felt more shame than he did at that moment.

Brian kicked a rock along the sidewalk as he inched further down his street, closer to his home. He had gotten the guts to go out into the world, to daringly do what he'd always wanted and leave his house, live his own life, and do things the way he wanted to do them. He was going to be more insubmissive than he ever had in his whole pathetic, complaint life. He was going to make himself proud…and then…

He'd gotten cold feet. The wimp in Brian sprang right back into action before he'd even made it to Derrick's street, and he'd spent the twenty some hours he'd been missing on a park bench, with kids throwing balls and Frisbees at him, and dogs pissing just feet away from him. That's where he'd made his daring and adventurous escape to. That was his big "life altering" moment. Sitting on a park bench for over _twenty four hours. _

And now, with his tail between his legs and his head hung low, he was on his way home. His parents had to be just about ready to disown him by that point. He just hoped they'd show mercy on him considering he hadn't showered, brushed his hair, changed his clothes, or done much of anything outside of sitting on a bench, soaking up his own embarrassment for a full day.

Brian couldn't help but laugh at himself in spite. He was so pathetic. He was losing a competition with his _little sister_, he was _nothing _at school, and even with his new group of friends, he was the _least _liked among them all. He wondered: had he killed himself, who would care?

His parents would, but the basis of their concern would be centered on how his actions would have reflected off of them. He always thought his legend of geeks would have cared, but they'd turned their backs on him impressively fast when they found out he was hanging out with two of the coolest girls in school, the school paper's favorite jock, and the most notorious criminal to walk the halls of Shermer. They'd acted as if Brian was some kind of traitor, giving them up for the chance to be with the in crowd. If they'd turn his back on him that fast just because he'd made some new friends, how soon until they would have recovered from the tragedy if Brian had shot himself?

Even if he shot himself right then and there, he'd still have no one to care. Not really. The breakfast club, of course, would care, but not like they cared for John. They'd be upset, but it wouldn't alter their lives with worry. He'd seen how easily they ignored Mark's existence, not being close enough to him and being too wrapped up in other problems to even pay him a visit. If Brian shot himself, wouldn't it be the same? He barely hung out with his new friends, he barely _made the effort _to hang out with his new friends; so who was he kidding to hope that they'd be at the hospital for him every day, like they were for John?

So nobody would care.

No, someone would care. Derrick would care. Derrick cared about virtually everyone he met. He was the kindest person Brian had ever come into contact with. He was truly compassionate towards all other people. He never passed judgment, and was always accepting no matter what. He would have never turned Brian away if he were to have gone through with his plan, if he had really showed up at his door steps. Yet, even with hundred percent certainty, Brian had still copped out.

"Fuck it" Brian said to himself, the word that was so forbidden and exotic tickling his lips like a dark feather. It was so absurd that, even after the unhappiness and determined failure it had brought to Brian's life, he couldn't shake the weights of his uptight lifestyle and just live. Even after making friends with people who, considering their problems, were the most relaxed people he'd ever met, he still couldn't escape his own awkward, apprehensive, and tense habits. Why was he holding on to them so tightly?

So, without even worrying about a clean pair of clothes, Brian took off. Stumbling a little from the unfamiliarity of athleticism, he ran as if the toxic gas of his old street and old life would suffocate him if he didn't get away fast enough, and as he took off, Brian couldn't help but notice his lips curled so stiff, that he couldn't have forced the smile off his face even if he wanted to. He even caught himself humming to Flock of Seagulls as he ran.

* * *

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!_ Andrew thought, hitting his head against his bedroom wall so hard that last year's wrestling trophy fell to the floor with a thud.

After promising himself that he wouldn't do something stupid like Mark had, that he wouldn't let the pressure lead to anything irrational, he _proposed _to his girlfriend. No, he didn't just propose, he'd _begged _her to marry him. She had to think he was absolutely crazy. He'd acted like a _mad man, _she'd probably never talk to him again.

"What the hell was that noise? Is everything all right in here?" Ron Clark asked, alarmed by the commotion. Andrew knew exactly what he meant. _"You haven't hurt yourself, have you? Can you still compete?" _After all, that was Ron's biggest fear. His pride and joy son injuring himself and being taken out of sports was Ron Clark's worst nightmare.

"Everything's fine." Andrew said, sitting up against his wall and sighing. There was no point telling his old man what he'd done. He'd just be ashamed. After all, Andrew was a Clark. He was a natural born winner, on the mat, and off. Winners did not pull stupid stunts that scared away the girl. Winners did not propose to their girlfriends out of nowhere, and winners did not get rejected.

"What is this doing on the ground?" Ron asked, picking the trophy up, wiping any debris off of it with his shirt, and putting it back in its respective place, "What's gotten into you lately? I'm telling you right now, you better get your act together soon, baseball's coming up. You wanna blow your whole season?" Ron asked

"Can you ever think about anything other than me competing? Wrestling season just ended, and you're already worrying about spring? I've got two friends in intensive care Dad, I've got bigger problems than baseball…Allison's going to leave me." Andrew said, his reaction filled with defeat upon explaining the last part.

"Is that what's got you acting so weird? Son…that girl was weird. Now, I didn't want to say anything while you were with her, but there was just something not right about her. Me and your mother think you're dealing with too much right now, you need to put your energy in school and competing before you start focusing on some girl."

"Don't you ever listen to me? I don't want to compete! My whole life just changed and it's mostly because of _you! _God, I _hate _you sometimes! You move me away from home and all the pressure you unload on me, _I can't do it anymore. _Sometimes,I wish I would injure myself just so I wouldn't have to deal with you breathing down my neck at the start of every season. Just _leave me alone." _Andrew shouted, trying his hardest to clench the tears away from his eyes before his dad saw. As if he didn't already know his wimp ass kid was crying, as he choked out his little ramble and his running nose turned bright red.

_Great, _Andrew thought, as his dad starred at him in shock. Now he was in for it. Not only had he mouthed back to his dad, but he was c_rying, _right there in front of him. Crying was unacceptable in the Clark household. The Clark's were champions, and crying was for the weak, a whole other species of human from any man who could call himself a Clark with any pride at all. The Clark's did not cry.

Andrew could only remember one other occasion where he'd lost control and shed some tears, and that was in front of the breakfast club, when his guilt over Larry Lester had rolled down his cheeks. He'd had nightmares at least once a week of his father ever finding out that his pride and joy son had been balling like a prepubescent girl in front of complete strangers. Now those nightmares were coming true, in the worst imaginable way.

Ronald Clark sighed, and Andrew began to mentally prepare himself for another irate lecture on "being a man". However, Ronald did not raise his voice, nor did his face boil over to any shade of red, nor did he point a single accusing finger. Instead, he sat next to Andrew, awkwardly putting his hand out, hesitating, and finally patting Andrew on the back.

"I want you to know that I'm proud of you sport. You're a born champion, and that's why I push you so hard, because I _know _you can do it. Your mother and me just want to see you reach your potential, and we want you to get that scholarship. That's the only way you're going to get to go to college, and get yourself a nice career where you won't have to worry about getting laid off, so you never have to move your family away from their home. That's all we wanted." Ron said, awkwardly looking around the room and twiddling his thumbs before adding, "but…maybe we pushed for it a little too hard. You want to date that weird girl? Then there's nothing wrong with that. And I guess…I guess, if you're not feeling up to it, we can take you out of baseball your last year, but if we do this _please _focus on wrestling next year. That's where you have your spotlight. That's where you'll get that scholarship." He begged, his palms actually sweaty with the anxiety that he was making the wrong call.

"Sure thing pops." Andrew said with a genuine smile, something his father had not provoked in him in years, not since the first time his old man cheered for him at a match. Back when his dad was still his dad, instead of some mindless machine with a whistle and a stop watch, before he stopped being a real person in Andrew's life, and started being some sports drill sergeant that he could never relate to.

"Alright. Good. Now…stop crying. It's weird. I'm getting freaked out. Guys don't cry Andrew." Ron said as he got up, heading towards the kitchen to satisfy his raging appetite.

Andrew couldn't help but smirk, despite everything else that had been bugging him. He had somehow salvaged the relationship he had with his father, the one that seemed to have been lost for almost a decade. It was as simple as speaking his mind; instead of compliance, standing his ground and making what he wanted clear. It was the what Allison had prescribed to him since the day they had met, and up until that point, he didn't know what she meant by it. Now he did.

Andrew didn't need to come up with a solution to everything. He didn't need to sit around, trying to solve everything that went wrong in his life, and turning it into something good. All he had to do was let others know what he wanted, and most of his problems would solve themselves. The ones that didn't? Andrew figured he'd deal with those problems like any other normal teenager. Without a clue.

* * *

By the time Brian made it to Derrick's address, he was practically having an asthma attack. He'd never even ran the whole track at school, but right then, he had just ran all the way to Derrick's house, a short fifteen minutes that had seemed like hours as Brian had stumbled over his own feet, felt his lungs burst, and swallowed in the cold air. He honestly didn't know how someone like Andrew did this kind of thing for f_un._

After wheezing for a decent amount of time, Brian regained his composure, took a deep breath, and firmly pressed down on the doorbell. He then, for reasons unknown even to himself, clenched his eyelids shut and held his breath in anticipation until he heard the heavy, maple wood door slide open, allowing the dim lights from inside to just barely illuminate himself.

"Bri-bri? What are you doing here? It's almost ten at night. Do your parents know you're here? Why are you panting?" Derrick asked, making it all too obvious how taken back by the surprise visit he was. Unfortunately, Brian couldn't decipher whether Derrick was taken back in the good way, or in a bad way, which would be very, _very _hard for Brian to deal with.

"You know…you know that day you talked to me on your break? Well, it really helped me. I mean, my parents totally freaked out, but I really needed someone to push me to say something to them, and that's what you did, and it's like, it's like this sign, it was like, serendipitous…that's ugh, like a fateful discovery, like destiny. I mean, you were there right when I needed you, and I know you're older than me, but what's age anyways? I mean, with age, that's like the one time when the number doesn't mean anything mathematically, because sometimes people don't act their age, like sometimes people are more mature and sometimes people are less mature…ugh, not that I'm calling you immature or anything, but, I mean, I'm more mature than most kids my age I think, my teachers say so, and, it's like, simpatico, like, ugh, we're so compatible, like you're who I would be if I wasn't mean, I mean, obviously I could be anyone if I wasn't me, but if I was confident and charismatic, so that day, when you helped me-" Brian rambled, his cheeks bright red and more sweat pouring down his forehead than minutes before when he was running. He had no idea what he was saying.

"Brian," Derrick said, putting up his hand to stop him from talking anymore, "I don't understand a single thing coming out of your mouth. Are you alright? You're sweating and talking fast. Did you run here? Did someone give you drugs?" he asked, peering in closer to get a look at Brian's pupils.

"I think I love you." Brian said quickly, somehow, managing to speak even faster than he had moments before. At this point, he was so overheated that even in the cold Shermer weather, with just a sweater on, he felt like he was baking in an oven, and his legs were trembling so furiously that he was genuinely afraid that he was going to fall over.

Derrick froze, his eyes locked on Brian. He finally sighed, and rested his forehead against the doorframe. All this time, and he had figured Brian looked to him as an experienced teacher, a role model, maybe even an older brother figure. He had assumed that gleam in Brian's eye whenever they were together was just inspiration to make changes in his own life. He'd misread everything, and he'd let things get to where they were now.

"Der-bear, who is it?"

This time, Brian was the one to freeze up. Another man from inside? Was it just a friend? No. he'd given Derrick a pet name, but then, hadn't Derrick called him "Bri-bri"? No. That was different. There was a hint of seduction in the other man's voice, and he was over so late at night, with all the lights dimmed. Derrick had been inside with another man, and Brian had just professed his feelings towards him.

More embarrassed than he'd ever felt in his life, which was truly saying a lot, Brian didn't know how to react, so he just took off running again. He could hear Derrick yelling at him from the house, but he couldn't face him, and he _definitely _couldn't explain what had just happened. His eyes filled up with water, and the streets of Shermer smeared into dark, distorted blurs of color.

Suddenly, something pulled Brian's arm from behind. He quickly turned around, rubbed the tears away with his sleeve, and found himself face to face with Derrick, who was just as much out of breath as he was.

"What are you trying to do kid," Derrick asked, taking a brief second to catch his breath, "get hit by a car or something?"

"Was that, was that your boyfriend?" Brian asked, swallowing hard and practically choking on the mixture of saliva, mucus, and snot. He waited anxiously for Derrick to reply, but the only response he got was a slow head turn to the right. It was all he needed to confirm his suspicions. He had a boyfriend, and Brian had just made a fool out of himself to the one person he thought would fill the emptiness in his life.

"_Fuck!" _Brian shouted tearing his arm free from Derrick's grasp, "_damn" _he cursed again, covering his sopping eyes with his right arm, and wiping snot from his nose with his left sleeve. This had been the first time since that detention that he'd actually wished that Mr. Reed hadn't found that gun, that it hadn't went off, that he had used it.

"Brian, calm down," Derrick said, while Brian shouted another profanity, "I said _calm down. _Look at me. Yes, Adam is my boyfriend, but Brian, even if he wasn't; you and I couldn't have a relationship. Do you understand what I'm saying? I am twenty five years old and you are a high school student. That's not just against my morals. That's against the law. You'll find someone your own age, you can't be in a relationship with an adult. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Derrick asked, pulling Brian's arm away from his eyes.

"There _is _nobody my age. I'm gay Derrick. How many other gay adolescence do you see around Shermer? I thought we were simpatico, I thought age didn't matter, I thought you actually c_ared." _Brian said between sobs, his nose running just as fast as his eyes.

"I do care about you Brian. You're a very sweet kid, and if I were seven years younger, I would have flirted with you from day one, but I'm not kid. I'm settling down with my life, and you're still exploring yours. Look, I know of this group of guys like you and me that meet up every Thursday at five. It's kind of like group counseling, it's a place where we can be together and talk about things we can't talk to with people who wouldn't understand. It helped me a lot a few years back, I'll give the information if you come back with me and get out of the street." Derrick said, hopeful when Brian's tears finally stopped flowing.

"It's just…it's just that I really needed you in my life. I don't know how to get through all of this, I thought...I mean, you've helped me so much, I just thought it would be easier with someone who's been through it." Brian said softly, smearing the last of his tears from his eyes. Not counting the kiss he'd snuck on Bender, Derrick was the first time he'd ever made an advance on someone, and he'd already was faced with rejection. Now who could he look towards to guide him through his sexuality? He didn't know anything about dating in general, let along dating within the same gender.

"I can still be here for you Brian, as friends. Now come one. Get out of the street. We'll go back to my house, get you cleaned up, get you that information, and then I'll take you home. You're parents are probably worried." Derrick said, offering his hand once more to Brian.

Brian took a deep breath, wiped his nose one last time, and took Derrick's hand.

* * *

"Um, is Allison home?" Andrew asked, barely able to stay awake long enough to hear the reply on the other end of the phone. The day he'd had, proposing to Allison, screaming at his dad, actually making amends with the old man, was so emotionally draining that he was already exhausted and ready to hit the sack, and it wasn't even ten at night yet.

"Man, do you have any idea what time it is?" Allison's mom asked, her voice just as exhausted as Andrew's.

Andrew realized it was probably too late to be making a phone call, that it would be better to wait until the morning, but he wouldn't be able to sleep knowing him and Allison hadn't made up. He needed to explain to her what had happened, to apologize, to set things back to the way they were before all this pregnancy nonsense.

"Yes ma'am, I'll be real quick, I promise. It's important." Andrew said quickly, smiling to himself when he heard the woman call Allison's name. He could practically feel his heart in his chest when he heard her voice on the other line. How had he let her do this to him? He'd never had feelings like this for any of the "popular" girls he'd dated in the past.

"Look, Allison, about today…I was just under a ton of stress. I'm sorry I acted like such a jerk, it was a real asshole move. Can we forget it happened and just get back to the way things were before? I miss you." He asked, trying his hardest to hold a yawn in.

"You sound…different. Peaceful." Allison said, making Andrew chuckle. It was just like her to disregard all the typical responses to what he had just said, and not only say something completely random, but actually pick up on the fact that the storm in his head had finally died down, and he was at peace with his life again.

"Is that good or bad?" He asked with a smile, remembering it to be the same thing she'd asked when she'd gotten her little "make-over", when he'd first seen her without all the black clothes, the dark makeup, and body of hair over her eyes. When he had first fell in love with her.

"Good." Allison replied with a smile.

* * *

**A/N: The part where Brian is humming Flock of Seagulls...you know what song I'm talking about ;) he just rannnnnn, he couldn't get away. OMG that song is so annoying lol. **

**Bender comes back in the next chapter. Yay. **

**melniewn: Thank you so much for your review. John is coming back next chapter! I thought I should probably take the other characters into consideration...maybe lol. I don't do that very often.**

**Ghostwriter: Thank you for the review :) It made me smile, as always :)**

**haleboppers: I'M ALIVE! lol, it's not weird, I always wonder the same thing. LoL I guess it is kind of like the outsiders. That's a good book, and the movie was actually pretty true to it too :) Haha, and yeah, this fanfic has a lot of breaking down lol. Thanks for your review, it was much appreciated, as always :) **

**thatswhatshesaid: I love your user name, and I'm so glad you like my story! Thank you so much for your review!**

**Anon: I must say that I am experiencing rage and happiness right now. Rage, because of the rage you feel for my stupid computer deleting the previous six chapters, happiness, that you liked this story :) thank you for the review, it really put a smile on my face! I'm so glad to make your favorites list! lol :)**

**StarsAreMassive: Haha I'm glad you think so. I was actually very afraid that I was concentrating way too much on John. Thank you so much for your review! It's much appreciated! **


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